LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


The    Shadow    Garden 

(A  Phantasy) 

And   Other   Plays 

By 

Madison   Cawein 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  and  London 
fwlcfcerbocfcer 
1910 


* 
t- 


COPYRIGHT,  1910 

BY 
MADISON    CAWEIN 


The  Plays  in  this  Volume  are  copyrighted  as  Dramatic 
compositions. 


Go 

ERIC  PAPE 

TRUE   FRIEND   AND   ARTIST 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.     The  Shadow  Garden,  A  Phantasy      5 
II.     The  House  of  Fear,  A  Mystery     .     61 

III.  The  Witch,  A  Miracle     .          .      .   101 

IV.  Cabestaing,  A   Tragedy  in  Three 

Acts 157 


THE  SHADOW  GARDEN 

A  PHANTASY 


APPEARANCES 


THE  SHADOW  OF  A  MAN 
THE  SHADOW  OF  A  WOMAN 
THE  SOUL  OF  A  CHILD 
THE  SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM 
ELVES  OF  THE  MOONLIGHT 
ELVES  OF  THE  STARLIGHT 
THE  WIND 
THE  FOUNTAIN 
THE  GRASS 
THE  DEW 
THE  FIREFLY 


THE  CRICKET 
THE  MOTH 
THE  BEETLE 
Various  Flowers 
THE  ROSE 
THE  AUGUST  LILY 
SUNFLOWER 
MOONFLOWER 
JOHNNY-JUMP-UP, 
etc.,  etc. 


TIME  :  Deep  Mid-Summer  Night 


THE  SHADOW  GARDEN 

SCENE  I 
A  Part  of  the  Garden  near  the  Fountain 

THE  GRASS:     Two  will  pass  here  soon. 

Through  my  prescient  roots 
Already  thrills  the  touch  of  shadowy  feet. 
THE  ROSE:     I  feel  them  coming,  and  the 

bud  I  was, 

In  sweet  anticipation  of  their  eyes, 
Is  grown  full-blown.     How  long  now  must 

we  wait? — 

Why  is  the  Wind  so  still  ?    Why  comes  it  not  ? 
THE  GRASS:  It  hangs  on  expectation;  fears 

to  breathe 

Lest  it  disturb  the  beauty  of  the  night, 
Or  interfere  with  what  our  hearts  perpend. — 
I  saw  the  Firefly  but  a  moment  since 
5 


6  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.   I 

Swoon  into  gold  and  pulse  its  way  of  flame 
Adown  the  darkness. — Saw'st  thou  where  it 

went? 
THE  ROSE:     I  saw  it  glimmer  towards  the 

dial-stone 

Lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  lonely  yew, 
Where,  here  and  there,  it  punctuates  the  dark 
With  wandering  gold,  as  if  it  sought  for  those 
Who  come  not  yet. — Listen! — A  little  flower 
Is  yawning  silkenly  here  at  my  feet. 
A  sleepy-head  that  nods  a  velvet  night-cap, 
A  monkey  face,  half  faery  and  half  flower. 
JOHNNY-JUMP-UP:    Odds  bodds!      What 's 

that  which  will  not  let  me  sleep? 
That  keeps  a  chatter  like  a  windy  leaf 
On  Autumn's  topmost  bough. — What  flower 

art  thou? 
THE  ROSE  :  Thou  little  jester  of  the  flowers, 

keep  still! — 

Superiors  gossip.     Keep  thy  talk  for  clowns. 
JOHNNY-JUMP-UP:  That 's courtesy.  Clowns 

always  are  polite, 

And  you  great  lords  and  ladies  rarely  are. — 
I  '11  talk  no  more  with  thy  high  haughtiness, 


sc.  i  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  7 

But  with  this  lowly  flower  right  near  me — 

green ! 

I  never  knew  before  that  flowers  were  green. 
How  emerald-green  it  is! — How  strange! — 

Heigh-ho ! 

I  am  just  born:  tell  me  what  flower  thou  art. 
THE  GRASS:  I  am  no  flower.     Better  than 

any  flower, 

Or  any  tree  am  I ;  and,  more  than  all, 
I  am  the  green  thought  of  the  Earth,  that  cools 
The  Sun's  hot  gaze:  I  am  what  flesh  becomes. 
JOHNNY-JUMP-UP  :      Grass !  — Oh !  — That 's 

next  to  being  nobody. 

Thy  voice  is  as  the  Wind  in  restless  boughs. — 
I  '11  find  a  lordlier  thing  to  talk  to.— Eh! 
Who  's  this  lank  giant  with  a  crown  of  rays, 
Head-heavy  with  his  load  of  sleeping  bees? 
A  Sunflower! — Well,  I  am  too  far  away 
For  any  talk  with  him.     I  '11  go  to  sleep. 
SUNFLOWER:  My  drowsy  bees,  that  huddle 

in  my  hair, 

Are  shaken  by  a  voice  and  stir  in  sleep : 
Their  frowsy  heads  plunged  deep  in  pollened 

bloom, 


8  THE   SHADO  W  GARDEN  sc.  I 

I  hear  the  beating  of  their  tiny  hearts. — 
Who  called  to  me? — An  insect  in  the  grass? 

THE  GRASS:  O  lover  of  the  Sun,  a  flower 

spoke ; 

A  little  impudent  flower,  that 's  gone  to  sleep ; 
Impertinent  as  a  child  that  has  its  way, 
Being  spoiled  with  kindness. — Hearken :  from 

thy  height, 
Saw'st  thou  the  way  the  Firefly  went? 

SUNFLOWER:  I  saw. 

The  Fountain  caught  its  sparkle  on  its  crest; 
The  dew  imprisoned  it  a  moment  there 
And  hung  it  on  a  moonflower  ere  it  fell. 

THE  DEW  :  I  faint  with  beauty  of  the  night. 

A  star 

Went  past  me  and  I  drank  its  gleam  of  gold. 
My  soul  is  dazed  with  loveliness.     I  die 
In  dim  responses  of  divinest  light, 
Reflections  of  that  flame  which  passed  me  by. — 
I  palpitate  with  silver  and  with  green, 
Glimmering  the  great  emotion  of  my  soul. — 
I  leapt  to  follow,  and  I  lie  amazed 
— In  whose  green  arms? — Whose  life-restor- 
ing arms? 


sc.  I  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  9 

THE  GRASS:  Mine.     Lie  thou  quiet;  closer 

to  me  now. 

I  feel  the  trembling  of  thy  crystal  heart, 
Lucent  with  happiness.     Thy  starry  pulse 
Wakes  a  responsive  ecstasy  in  me. — 
Lie  closer  in  my  arms. — Love  comes  this  way. 
Thou  too  shalt  feel  his  sadness  as  have  I. 
THE  DEW:  A  star  went  past  me.     I  would 

follow  it. 

A  star  of  lambent  gold,  like  dreams  I  dream 
Among  the  heavy  ferns  where  Elfins  dance 
When  the  great  Moon,  in  broad  astonishment, 
Looks  on  the  stream  that   shakes  its  wild- 

flower-bells. 
THE  GRASS:  It  went,  but  will  return. — Lie 

still  and  dream. 
THE  ROSE:  I  hear  the  Wind.     It  whispers 

to  itself 

Of  things  it  knows  that  we  can  never  know. 
Haply  it  speaks  of  sorrow ;  those  who  come ; 
The  two  sad  Shadows  with  the  pensive  brows, 
Who  on  this  night  bend  o'er  my  shrinking 

blooms. 
All  that  I  know  is  that  two  flowers  of  mine 


IO  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.  I 

Lie  buried   with   them. — They  could   tell   a 

tale.— 

I  hear  the  Fountain  talking  to  the  Wind. 
Listen :    what  are  the  words  its  pale  lips  sigh  ? 
THE  GRASS:    Dim  protestations  that  avail 

it  not 
Of  evanescent  things  that  fade  away. 

THE  ROSE:  A  sound  that  strikes  with  panic 

all  my  blooms 

And  sets  their  petals  trembling  to  their  fall. 
THE  FOUNTAIN  :  Oh,  clasp  me  not  so  wildly! 

making  stream 

The  pale  foam  of  my  hair  against  thy  face. 
Pass  on,  wild-footed  one,  and  let  me  sleep. 
The  grass  and  flowers  await  thee. — Once  again 
Kiss  me  and  go.     Unloose  thee  from  my  hair; 
And  when  the  night  is  old  come  thou  again 
And  sleep  beside  me.     Go  thy  restless  way. 
The  Grass  and  Flowers  are  calling.     What 

detains  ? — 
THE  WIND  :  I  see  two  faces  in  thy  shadowy 

glass; 

Two  faces  of  two  lovers  who  are  dead. 
Thou  dost  contain  them.     Paler  far  are  they 


sc.  I  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  II 

Than  the  disk'd  lily  on  thy  marble  marge. 
Now  a  slim  ripple  trembles  them.     They  pass, 
But  come  again.     Th'  obliterating  wave 
Erases  them  once  more. — Didst  thou  not  feel 
The  sadness  and  the  beauty  of  the  two  ? — 
Beautiful  art  thou,  but  far  more  beautiful 
The  Shadows  that  thou  showest  me ;  that  make 
My  soul  more  sad  than  Winter  when  it  grieves. 
THE  FOUNTAIN:  I  felt  them  in  my  breast 

but  could  not  see: 

My  long  hair  blinded  me.     They  '11  come  again 
When  night  is  old.    Long  years  ago  they  came, 
Two  mortals  then,  and  sat  upon  my  marge, 
Dropping  the  ruined  roses  in  my  stream 
With  many  a  tear,  the  epilogue  of  their  sighs. 
How  long  ago  it  is  I  can  not  say: 
But  yon  great  yew  was  but  a  sapling  then. 
And  I  remember  when  they  came  no  more, 
And  through  the  Garden  how  a  murmur  went 
Of  death  and  sorrow  which  these  two  con- 
cerned . — 

Two  graves  lie  yonder  deep  among  the  weeds ; 
And  from  the  weeds  at  times  two  Shadows 
steal : 


12  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.  I 

A  Firefly  lamps  them.     See ;  e'en  now  its  flame 
Glimmers  along  the  grass.     Go ;  follow  ifc. 
THE  WIND:  I  follow  the  Firefly:  soon  I  will 

return. 

Thy  beauty  draws  me  ever;  but  the  dreams, 
Reflected  of  thy  face,  lead  to  despair. — 
Have  done  with  dreams,  and  turn  to  Love 

and  me, 

O  weaver  of  wild  veils  of  spray  and  foam. 
Farewell. 
THE  FOUNTAIN:  Farewell.     Despair  is  not 

for  me. 

Thou  folio  west  Shadows:  they  lead  to  despair. 
THE  WIND:    Soon  I  return.     A  Soul  I'll 

bring  to  thee. 
THE  CRICKET:  Who  is  it  trembles  by  the 

rose  and  makes 
A  small  thin  rustle  as  of  dying  grass  ? 

THE  BEETLE  :  Who  passed  me,  dimmer  than 

the  gossamer 
That  trails  its  white  way  'thwart  the  waning 

moon? 

Who  touched  my  shards  to  silence  with  a 
sigh? 


sc.  I  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  13 

THE  MOTH  :  Who  woke  me  in  the  bosom  of 

the  rose 

With  the  pale  passage  of  inaudible  feet? 
THE  FIREFLY  (appearing) :  I  lamp  the  way 

of  Grief. — Look  not  on  me ; 
But  on  these  two  whom  my  green  lanthorn 

lights. 

[The  Shadows  of  a  MAN  and  a  WOMAN  appear. 
THE  ROSE  :  They  pause  beside  me. — Shad- 
ows of  the  night, 
What  would  you  here? — Wither  me  not  with 

grief! 
SHADOW  OF  THE  MAN  :  This  is  the  rose-tree. 

Hast  thou  still  a  rose? 
THE  ROSE  :  Many  a  rose  has  died  since  you 

were  here, 
And  many  a  rose  been  born.     The  crimson 

beats 

Still  in  my  veins  and  manifests  itself 
In    blossoms     still,    symbols     of    love   and 

life. 

SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN  :  Grief  hath  changed 
all  things.     This  it  too  hath  changed. 
My  rose  is  ashes.     What  availeth  it? 


14  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.  i 

SHADOW  OF  THE  MAN  :  Thy  rose  and  mine 
are  withered.     Let  them  hang 

Upon  this  bough  whence  Love  once  gathered 
them.  .  .  . 

Perhaps  the  force  that  evermore  renews 

The  beauty  of  the  Earth,  old  sorceries 

Of  resurrection  rehabilitating 

Ruin  with  life,  will  make  them  as  they  were. 

— But  no.     The  bough  is  dead  where  once 
they  grew 

And  a  great  spider  webs  it  round  and  round. 
SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN  :  But  here  's  a  liv- 
ing bough  without  a  thorn ; 

It  may  revive  them,  touching  buds  just  born. 
[They  place   two  withered    roses  upon   the 

blossoming  branch. 

THE  ROSE  :  Pain !  pain ! — Through  crimson 
of  my  petalled  pulse 

I  feel  the  torture  of  forgotten  years, 

When  Winter  smote  me  into  iron  and  gnashed 

His  fangs  of  ice  against  me,  bit  me  bare. 

Again  I  feel  the  agony,  that  takes 

The  form  of  thorns,  bristling  my  thornless 
boughs. — 


sc.  I  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  15 

What   memories   are  these? — O   death    and 

dreams ! — 

Ashes  and  dust  of  roses! — Take  thy  dead 
From   off    the  living!     Lay   them    on   your 

hearts. — 
Pain!  Pain! — O  thorns  and  roses  that  were 

mine! 

THE  GRASS  :  My  breast  is  wet  with  unaccus- 
tomed dew 

Salt  drops  that  burn ;  the  bitterness  of  brine. 
THE  DEW:  My  life  is  mixed  with  darkness. 

I  am  changed. — 

Farewell,  beloved :  lo,  I  swoon  and  die. 
THE  ROSE:  My  stem  is  thorny.     Let  the 

Wind  come  now 

And  strew  my  blossoms  on  the  sleeping  grass. 
THE  GRASS:  I  sleep  not;  never.     Let  thy 

blossoms  fall. 

THE  WIND:  Who  called  me? 
THE  GRASS:     'T  was  the  Rose.       It  fain 

would  fall 

Upon  my  bosom.     Bring  thou  her  to  me. 
THE  WIND:  Dead  roses,  not  the  living,  do 
I  bring. 


1 6  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.  I 

SHADOW  OP  THE   MAN:   All  dreams  must 

die,  as  died  our  roses  here. 
Not  one  sweet  dream  remains  to  us — not  one. 
Ashes  of  roses  and  the  dust  of  dreams. — 
Haply  were  we  more  innocent  we,  too, 
Might  resurrect  our  dream,  that  died  with 

these, 

As  wizardry  evokes  the  living  form 
From  dust  of  beauty.    For  in  these  persist, 
These  ruins  of  roses,  ineradicable  things, 
Old  essences  of  fragrant  dew  and  fire, 
Some  moment,  unforgetable,  recalls, 
Building  a  world  of  memories  that  are  real 
As  is  the  perfume  nothing  can  destroy. — 
Crumble  thy  rose  with  mine. — Now  let  the 

Wind 
Sow  their  dead  scent  around  us. 

THE  WIND:  Be  it  so. 


SCENE  II 
A  Part  of  the  Garden  near  a  Moon-Dial 

LARKSPUR:    What    are    these    moth-like 

creatures,  winged  with  film, 
And  star-  and  moon-dust,  dancing  down  the 

night  ? 
A  light  glows  through  them  as  through  globe'd 

rain 

A  firefly's  glimmer,  green  and  silver  green. 
CANDYTUFT:  Elves  of  the  Star-  and  Moon- 
light.    Every  bud, 

That  pushes  its  sweet  way  into  God's  air 
Within  me,  leaps  at  impact  of  their  feet : 
And  every  flow'r  's  agog  to  see  them  pass, 
And  breathes  a  deeper  breath  of  pure  per- 
fume.— 

Listen!  I  hear  the  music  of  their  hearts 
Keep  time  to  their  wild  wings. — Light  thrids 
their  limbs 

2  17 


1 8  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  II 

As  fragrance  veins  the  petals  of  a  rose. 
I  swoon  with  ecstasy. — They  touch  me  now. 
LARKSPUR    (as  the  ELVES  appear):     Take 

care  lest  joy  should  kill  thee. 
CANDYTUFT  :  It  is  grief, 

Not  joy,  that  kills.   .    .    .     See  where  they 

come!  they  come, 
Dazing  the  winds  with  wonder.     Hear  them 

speak. 
ELVES  OF  THE  STARLIGHT:  A  madder  whirl! 

madder  around  the  Rose! — 
Hey,  Trip  and  Trixy,  Thistlepuff  and  Foam, 
Mothfeather,  Fernseed,  Wink  and  Rippleray, 
Wing-tip  to  tip  and  toe  to  twinkling  toe, 
Trip  it  and  spin  it .     Make  the  Flowers  gro w . — 
A  thousand  buds  must  break  ere  dawn  of  day. 
ELVES   OF   THE   MOONLIGHT:    Faster  and 

faster!  .  .  .  Here 's  an  humblebee! 
Gone  dead  asleep  deep  in  this  hollyhock! — 
There  's  comfort  for  you !  Hear  him  how  he 

snores. — 
Ho  there !  what  Inn  is  this  ?     What  drink  do 

y'  sell?— 
A  boozing  den,  forsooth,  for  lazy  bees! — 


SC.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  19 

A  right  fair  house,  but  needs  good  cleaning  out. 
Hey  ho,  thou  tippler,  drunk  with  honeydew, 
Out,  out,  thou  burly  braggart! — Art  the 

host?— 
We  '11  ruin  thy  business! — Look!   he  never 

moves.  .  .  . 

Here,  Batwing,  tease  him  with  a  whip  of  web : 
Imp-ride  him  now  as   Nightmares  ride  di- 
gestion. .  .  . 
Well  done!— He  doth  protest?— Out,  out  with 

him! 
With   all  the   goblin  gold   that  weighs   his 

thighs, 

And  sack  of  honey  in  his  shaggy  paunch. — 
This  is  no  wayside-tavern  for  fat  bees. 

ELVES  OF  THE  STARLIGHT:  What  rakehell 
flower's  this  with  swaggering  plume! — 
A  Cockscomb! — Well! — pranked  with  a  but- 
terfly.— 

Off  with  thy  finery,  thou  swashbuckler! 
Thy  butterfly-order  with  its  bossy  gold. — 
One  would  imagine  thee  a  titled  prince 
Or  belted  knight,  plebeian  that  thou  art ! — 
Here  is  the  royalty  where  it  belongs, 


20  THE  SffADO  W  GARDEN  SC.  II 

This   splendour   crowned   with    crystal  and 

strange  gold, 

This  regal  Lily  with  its  silken  air. 
There  let  it  dream. — Here  comes  a  snail  our 

way. 

ELVES  OP  THE  MOONLIGHT  :  Two  snails ! — 
And  there  slides  down  a  sleepy  slug.— 
Off,  thou  Obesity !  wouldst  gnaw  this  rose  ? — 
Bring  here  those  gossamers  that  line  and  loop 
With    moon-thin   wefts    the  bugled  honey- 
suckles. 

Bridle  these  vermin  with  their  silvery  silk, — 
And  rein  them  taut  by  their  astonished  horns. 
Now  prick  them  with  ambition,  not  unreal, 
And  let  a  vision  of  a  feast  to  be 
Grow  in  their  heads  of  ooze. — Ho,   Foxfire, 

there! 

Drag  up  a  mushroom  from  the  glowworm  soil, 
Yonder  among  the  weeds ;  and  let  it  be 
The  set  goal  for  a  race  between  these  three. — 
Up!      stride     their     slimy     backs. — Away! 

away ! — i 

Who  wins  now?     Spark  or  Twinkle?  Ripple- 
ray?  .  .  . 


sc.n  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  21 

Prick  them  into   the  race   with   thorns   of 

burrs. — 

Ay ;  let  them  feel  the  metal  of  your  spurs. — 
The  snail  that  wins  shall  have  the  largest  share 
O'  th'  pinkest  part  o'  the  plump  fungus  there. 
ELVES  OP  THE  STARLIGHT  :  Here  is  a  Moth, 

as  delicate  as  a  dream, 
Hovering    above    this     rosebud's    heart    of 

flame — 

As  'twere  a  candle  where  it  would  be  singed. — 
What  message  does  it  bear? — The  creature 

waves 

Its  plumy  head  as  if  it  mocked  at  us, 
And  kept  its  information  for  the  flowers. 
THE  MOTH  :  Your  revels  here  have  scandal- 
ised the  Garden. 

Where  Grief  goes  Folly  should  be  circumspect. 
ELVES  OP  THE  STARLIGHT:  Ho!    here 's  a 

howdy-do !  A  thing  of  down 
And  flossy  white,  a  sort  of  butterfly, 
That  once  was  but  a  crawling,  obscene  worm, 
Turned  old  philosopher  to  lecture  us 
On  our  behaviour!  .  .  .  Ring  it  round  and 

round! 


22  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  II 

Dizzy  it  till  it  drop !  A  tangled  whirl 

Of  fluffy  wings  and  plumes. — We   are  thy 

betters ; 

And  when  thou  dost  correct  us — be  advised. 
Lie  there  now,   wretched,   till  thou   gather 

sense. 
ELVES  OF  THE  MOONLIGHT:  Two  shadows 

wander  this  way.     One  is  fair, 
With  eyes  of  dreaming  azure,  deep  as  night, 
And  hair  like  moonlight  on  a  leaping  stream. 
And  one  is  dark,  with  eyes  of  sadness,  soft 
As  pansies  velveted  with  dreams  and  dew, 
And  hair  like  night  upon  a  sleeping  stream. 
ELVES  OP  THE  STARLIGHT:  These  are  the 

Lovers  whom  in  ancient  days 
We  saw  here  roaming  through  the  purple 

dusk. 

Misfortune  overtook  them  and  the  change 
For  which  we  have  no  name.     Their  Shadows 

now 

Revisit  the  old  places  of  their  love, 
Earth-bound  by  grief  and  loss  of  innocence. 
Draw  near  and  hearken. 

[The  SHADOWS  appear. 


sc.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  23 

SHADOW  OP  THE  MAN  :  Elfins  haunt  these 

walks. 

The  place  is  most  propitious  and  the  time. — 
See  how  they  trip  it ! — There  one  rides  a  snail. 
And  here  another  teases  at  a  bee. — 
In  spite  of  grief  my  soul  could  almost  smile. — 
Elfins!  frail  spirits  of  the  Stars  and  Moon, 
'T  is  manifest  to  me  't  is  you  we  see. — 
We  never  knew,  or  cared,  once. — Would  we 

had!— 

Our  lives  had  proved  less  empty ;  and  the  joy, 
That  comes  with  beautiful  belief  in  everything 
That  makes  for  childhood,  had  then  touched 

us  young 

And  kept  us  young  for  ever ;  young  in  heart — 
The  only  youth  man  has.     But  man  believes 
In  only  what  he  contacts;  what  he  sees; 
Not  what  he  feels  most.    Crass,  material  touch 
And  vision  are  his  all.     The  loveliness, 
That   ambuscades   him  in   his    dreams   and 

thoughts, 

Is  merely  portion  of  his  thoughts  and  dreams 
And  counts  for  nothing  that  he  reckons  real ; 
But  is,  in  fact,  less  insubstantial  than 


24  THE  SHADO  W  GARDEN  SC.  II 

The  world  he  builds  of  matter-of-fact  and 

stone. 

That  great  inhuman  world  of  evidence, 
Which  doubts  and  scoffs  and  steadily  grows  old 
With  what  it  christens  wisdom. — Did  it  know, 
The  wise  are  only  they  who  keep  their  minds 
As  little  children's,  innocent  of  doubt, 
Believing  all  things  beautiful  are  true. 

SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN  :  This  is  the  Love- 
liness, uncomprehended, 
Imperishable,  and  full  of  faery  tricks, 
Invisible  once,  that  oft  we  felt  here  when 
Our  mortal  steps  went  wandering  mid  these 

Flowers. 

Impossible  creatures  of  the  Stars  and  Moon, 
What  do  ye  here? — What  revels  do  ye  hold? 
What  wonders  do  ye  work?  .  .  .  In  days  long 

gone 

I  felt  you  round  me,  but  I  could  not  see. 
I  did  not  dream  't  was  Elfland  that  bewitched 
My  heart  with  dreams  and  gentled  it  with 

love. 

ELVES  OP  THE  STARLIGHT:  This  Garden  is 
our  work-shop,  playground  too. — 


BC.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  2$ 

We  dance  the  Flowers  open  as  we  once 
Danced  dreams  into  your  heart. — Here  is  a 

bud.-— 

Watch  us  at  work.     A  lump  of  lead,  you  see, 
Transformed  to  mother-of-pearl. — Our  part, 

observe, 

Is  to  bring  Loveliness  into  the  world. — 
What  think  you  of  a  child,  a  minute  old, 
That  prattles  wisdom  as  this  infant  does. 
MOONFLOWER  (that  has  just  been  born) :  What 

bliss  is  this !  what  sudden,  silken  joy 
Of  swift  awakening ! — Did  music  give  me  life  ? 
Kissing  my  dewy  eyelids  while  I  slept, 
Saying  Be  born!  .   .  .  And  who  are  these? 

and  you? — 

Fair  presences  who  touched  me  into  being? — 
And  why  am  I  ?  and  -what  am  I  ?  and  whence  ? 
ELVES  OF  THE  MOONLIGHT:  So  apt  at  ques- 
tions and  a  moment  born ! — 
O  young  inquisitor,  we  are  the  Elves. — 
The  Wind  will  answer  all  thy  questions,  sweet, 
And  press  his  angry  kisses  on  thy  mouth. 
Keep  all  thy   questions    for   him,   fragrant 
one. — 


26  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  II 

We  have  no  reason  for  the  things  we  do, 
But  simply  do  them  for  the  beauty  of  it. 
Thou  art  thy  own  sweet  reason  for  thyself, 
Being  beautiful,  and  need'st  not  ask  where- 
fore.— 
But  why  and  whence — the  wise,  instructing 

Wind 
Will  answer  that,  and  tell  thee  marvellous 

things, 

And  woo  thee  with  harsh  kisses  of  his  mouth, 
And  fill  thee  with  sad  wisdom  ere  thou  die. 
For  to  be  wise  is  to  be  sad,  they  say, 
And  death  will  come  in  time,  all  Flowers  know. 
MOONFLOWER:  And  what  is  death?     What 

does  it  mean  to  die? — 
I  do  not  wish  to  die.     Life  is  too  sweet. 
ELVES  OF  THE  STARLIGHT  :  The  never-dying 

Wind  will  tell  thee  that. 
Enough  now  that  thou  livest.       These  are 

dead, — 

These  two  sad  Shadows  bending  o'er  a  Rose, — 
But  have  a  certain  life,  we  know  not  of, 
After  they  die,  or  change ;  for  men  must  die, 
And  flowers  must  die;  but  we — we  never  die. 


SC.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  2? 

We  are  the  dreams  that  keep  the  world's  heart 

young; 

The  dreams  the  world  refuses  oft  to  see. — 
Facts  pass  and  perish,  but  the  dreams  endure. 
This  is  the  only  immortality. 

[ELVES  pass  on. 
SHADOW   OP  THE  MAN:   Here  is  the  Rose 

that  once  we  found  so  sweet. 
One  bloom  is  withering   and  one  bloom  is 

blown, 

And  a  frail  moth  clings  to  the  heart  of  one. 
SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN:   Perhaps  it  is  a 

dream  materialised; 
The  pale  thought  of  some  dead  rose  come  to 

tell 
The  living  rose  the  secret  of  all  death. 

THE  MOTH  :  I  am  the  kiss  that  twilight  gives 

to  night, 

That  darkness  dreams  of,  lends  material  form. 
I  bear  white  messages  from  flower  to  flower 
No  words  may  syllable  nor  any  speech. 
I  messenger  between  the  dusk  and  dew, 
And  thrill  to  life  the  seed  within  the  bloom. 
There  is  no  privacy  that  shuts  me  out. 


28  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  H 

I  am  th'  expression  of  what  beauty  means, 
Fanning  frail  wings  of  moonlight  'thwart  the 

moon; 

The  intimate  of  dreams  that  darkness  dreams. 
SHADOW  OP  THE  MAN:    Yea,  we  are  an- 
swered.    'T  is  a  symbol  only, 
This  pallid  life,  that  messengers  back   and 

forth, 
Between   the  dusk  and    dawn,   among  the 

Flowers. — 

All,  all  is  mystery.     Questions  profit  naught. 
Result  in  nothing. — Let  us  farther  seek, 
Between  the  Fountain  and  the  Wind. 

SHADOW  OP  THE  WOMAN  :  I  see 

A  Firefly  flicker  there,  beneath  the  thorns. 
Come,  let  us  go.     Haply  't  will  show  us  soon 
Some  answer,  long  deferred,  for  all  this  grief; — 
Some  reason,  long  withheld   of  Heaven  and 

God;— 

And  reunite  us  in  some  fairer  place 
With  the  sweet  soul  of  that  We  lost  long  since, 
The    Innocence    of    earth     gone    with     our 

dreams. — 
The  light  says  follow,  but  't  is  far  away, 


SC.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  2$ 

And  wanders  over  graves.  .  .  .  Come,  let  us 

go- 

[They  pass  on. 
THE  BEETLE:  Thank  mercy  they  are  gone! 

Now  I  can  eat 

SNAPDRAGON:  There  is  that  Beetle  bung- 
ling at  my  ear. 

What  a  voracious  beast  it  is. — Be  gone. 
THE  BEETLE:    I  would  but  whisper  some- 
thing in  thy  ear. — 
What  dost  thou  think  now  of  those  two  just 

gone? 
SNAPDRAGON:  That  they  're  inquisitive  of 

what  concerns 

Not  me  or  thee.     What  sickness,  eh,  is  theirs? 
Is  it  the  blight,  or,  haply,  the  red-spider? 
Or  something  worse  than  plagues  the  flowers 

have, 

I  wonder.     Haply,  did  they  ask  of  me, 
I  could  inform  them  of  the  thing  they  seek; 
For  I  am  gossip  of  the  Gnomes,  who  dwell 
Beneath  the  rocks  there  by  the  mossy  wall, 
And  who,  each  night,  make  me  their  confidant, 
In  payment  for  the  loan  of  these  my  blossoms 


30  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  II 

They  wear  as  night-caps. 

THE  BEETLE:  They  are  very  fine. 

I  love  thy  blossoms  too.     Come,  lean  them 

down, 

And  let  me  see  what  colour  streaks  each  crown. 
SNAPDRAGON:  Feed  not  so  fiercely.     Thou 

hast  torn  my  blooms. 
Thy  harsh  feet  rend  my  leaves ;  thy  mandibles 

pierce. 
Off,  vampire !— Ha !— Didst  get   a  fall?— Lie 

there. 
Be  gentler  next  time.     What  wind  blew  thee 

hither? 
THE  BEETLE:  No  wind;  but  that  sweet  leaf 

which  suppered  me 

Last  eve,  and  music  of  our  cricket  friend, 
Who  still  persists  in  serenading  thee. 
Some  day  some  Gnome  will  steal  his  fiddlebow, 
Or  crack  the  stretched  strings  of  his  violin, 
And  hang  him  with  them  from  thy  windowed 

leaves 

For  all  thy  Flowers  to  gape  at. — Tell  me  now, 
What    dost    thou    give   him  for  that   rusty 

tune? 


sc.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  31 

SNAPDRAGON:    Honey  of    praise    and  fra- 
grance-dewed applause 
Dropped  from  my  golden  throat,  thou  winged 

fang! 
THE  BEETLE:  Oh,  if  thou  'rt  angry,  as   I 

think  thou  art, 

I  will  get  hence.     I  know  a  Flower  now 
That  greets  me  like  a  brother.     'T  will  be  glad 
To  house  me  for  the  night.     So,  fare  thee 
well. 

[Passes  on. 
SNAPDRAGON:  Play  up,  my  Cricket.     Snap 

thy  fiddle  strings; 
I  listen  with  my  twenty  delicate  ears. 

THE  CRICKET:    I  heard  the  Elfins  but  an 

hour  agone 

Trip  to  my  music,  therefore  still  I  play. — 
'T  is  for  no  Snapdragon,  nor  any  Flower, 
I    keep  my  fiddle  tight.        My  strings  are 

stretched 

For  better  folk  than  Flowers. — Eh  ?— Go  to ! — 
Here  come  my  people.  Tinkle  I  must  again, 
A  nimble  melody  for  nimble  feet. 

[ELVES  appear. 


32  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  II 

ELVES  OP  THE  MOONLIGHT:  Those  Shades 

are  gone. — 

Would  they  were  gone  for  ever! 
Why  bring  their  troubles  here? — They  disar- 
range 
Our  midnight  revels. — Would  they  slay  this 

Rose?— 

Oft  have  they  stood  above  it  whispering, 
And  every  time  the  Rose  let  fall  a  bloom, 
A  crimson  heart-drop. — This  will  never  do. 
We  must  search  out  their  sorrow,  and  preserve 
The  gladness  of  our  Garden.     Why,  look  here, 
Even  our  Snapdragon,  the  jolliest  flower 
That  ever  tossed  its  bonnets  to  the  Wind, 
Is  melancholy,  hangs  its  heads  in  grief.  .  .  . 
Where  passed  those  Shadows,  tell  us,  lovely 

Rose? 
THE  ROSE  :  Into  the  shadow  of  yon  twisted 

thorn, 
Where  two  dim  graves  raise  low  their  weedy 

mounds, 

And  where  the  Firefly  trims  its  phantom  lamp. 
ELVES  OP  THE  MOONLIGHT:  We  dare  not 

follow  there.     We  can  not  dance, 


sc.  II  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  33 

Or  flutter  faery  feet  where  mortals  lie 

In   clay   and    darkness. — Come,   we   will   go 

hence. — 

A  sorry  business  hovering  round  their  graves ! 
Unhappy  in  their  lives  and  sad  in  death, 
What  may  deliver  them,  except  themselves, 
Or  that  sweet  spirit,  Inexperience, 
Born  of  their  dreams,  but  lost  before  they 

died? 
That  would   release   them,  could  it   now  be 

found, 

From  their  unhappiness. — We  can  not  help. — 
Come,  let  us  go  away.     Our  life  is  joy ; 
And  joy  is  part  of  immortality. — 
So  let  us  hence  and  dance  till  daybreak  there 
Where  the  pale  Fountain  tosses  wild  its  hair. 
THE  CRICKET:  And  I  will  follow  with  my 

tinkling  tune. 
Elves   could   not   do  without   me   and — the 

moon. 


SCENE  III 
A  Part  of  the  Garden  near  two  Graves 

SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:  I  am  the  Dream  of 

Life  that  those  two  lost.  .  .  . 
For  many  years  I  have  been  near  to  them, 
But  they — they  have  not  seen  me,  have  for- 
gotten : 

My  face  they  know  no  more,  that  still  is  fair 
As  once  they  made  it,  when  their  love  created. 
They  gave  me  being  and  I  go  the  rounds 
Of  this  old  Garden,  giving  expression  to 
Its  inner  loveliness. — Long  since  they  died. 
But  I — I  never  die.     Love  lives  in  me. 
What  the  dim  Flowers  here  were  talking  of 
I  whispered  to  them  many  years  ago. 
They  never  can  forget ;  nor  can  the  Wind 
And  Fountain  there  forget.     They  sigh  and 

sigh 

Remembering  me,  the  Dream,  they  think  that 
died 

34 


sc.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  35 

Long,    long    ago    with   those  two  sorrowful 

ones. 

But  I  am  always  here.  They  know  me  not, 
Who  knew  me  once  so  well.  To-night,  perhaps, 
My  beauty  shall  avail. — What  say'st  thou, 

Rose? 
THE  ROSE:  I  saw  thee  coming  and  my  buds 

took  on 

A  new  expression  of  young  loveliness, 
Caught  from  thy  insubstantial  form  that  seems 
Arrested  moonlight.  .  .  .     Tell  me:  is  there 

aught 

That  may  avail  in  thee,  or  me,  or  these, — 
These  many  Flowers  of  our  wilderness, — 
The  Fountain  or  the  Wind,  or  Moth,  or  Elves, 
To  help  these   Shadows  in  their  wandering 

grief? 
SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:  In  thee  and  these  is 

naught.    But  here  in  me 
Is  something  that  may  medicine  their  pain. 
They  have  forgotten  me  and  one  they  lost, 
The  Child,  the  faery  Child,  named  Innocence, 
Born  of  their  souls'  revealment  long  ago. 
Through  it,  and  it  alone,  forgotten  long, 


36  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.  Ill 

Me  shall  they  see  and  find  themselves  again ; 
And  old  unhappiness  and  griefs  of  earth 
Fall  from  them  like  dark  raiment;  and  this 

place 
Shall  know  their  forms  no  more,  gone  forth 

with  joy. 
THE    ROSE:    The   air  smells  balmy  here. 

What  breathes  around 

Like  Spring  and  Summer  meeting  in  the  dew 
Beneath   the   thin  new  moon? — More  spiced 

than  I, 

Sweet  Flower  of  the  night,  tell  me  thy  name. 
AUGUST  LILY:     I  have  no  name,  except  a 

general  one ; 
And  that,  they  say,  's  plebeian.      But,  like 

thee, 

I  'm  of  an  ancient  aristocracy. — 
The   human    Christ   bade   men  regard     me; 

yea, 

Consider  my  loveliness. — I  have  turned  poet ; 
Music  of  beautiful  words  possesses  me : 
Such  high  attention,  such  authority, 
And  memory  of  that  speech,  which  masters 

me, 


SC.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  37 

Were  bound  to  make  me  poet.  ...       So  I 

dream. 

And  media&e  on  beauty  evermore, 
And  all    my  thoughts   are   fragrance.    .    .    . 

'T  was  a  thought, 
That  came  to  me   to-night,  whose  myrrhed 

breath  spiced 

The  air  so  sweetly,  swooning  on  thy  sense. 
A  mystery  whispered  it,  or  something  there, 
Some  presence  that  I  know  not,  haply  Love's, 
That  sank  into  my  heart  like  honeydew. 
Its  revelation  fills  me  still  with  wonder 
Of  secret  perfume,  as  it  filled  me  when 
God  thought  us  into  flowers,  and  His  eyes 
Rejoiced  in  us,  and  rested  on  us  there 
In  Eden,  and  He  saw  that  we  were  fair. 
Therefore  it  is  all  Flowers  are  beautiful, 
And   sinless  as    the    first-born    children    of 

God; 

And  all  we  ask  is  that  men  give  us  thought, 
And  be  as  we  are,  sinless  and  serene, 
Dreaming  their  lives  out. 

SHADOW    OF    A    DREAM:     Life    is    but   u 

dream. — 


38  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN          SC.  m 

AUGUST  LILY:     You  took  your  cue  from 

me.     You  but  repeat. — 
SHADOW  OP  A  DREAM:    A  dream  that   's 

born  again  for  new  delight. — 
Spring   does    not    perish;    nor   the    Rose. — 

Imperishable, 

They  have  immortal  life,  retaining  each 
Its  own  identity  within  the  soul : 
Part  of  the  dreams  are  they  that  they  suggest ; 
Symbolic  thoughts  through  which  our  mother, 

Nature, 

Expresses  her  desires,  and  aye  renews 
Her  beauty.     So  there  's  no   such  thing  as 

death. 
AUGUST  LILY  :  Thou  art  elusive  as  a  dream 

should  be. 

My  cousin  here  's  impressed. — O  gentle  Rose, 
Why  art  thou  so  absorbed  upon  the  grass  ? 
THE  ROSE:  I  see  my  petals  dropping,  one 

by  one. 

I  see  them  lying  for  the  Wind  to  scatter. 
Thou   dost    not   know,    hast    never   pressed 

a  heart, 
A  human  heart,  and  turned  to  dust  with  it. 


sc.  Hi  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  39 

AUGUST   LILY:     Naught   know   I    of    the 

human  heart,  or  grief. 
Man  comes  and  goes,  I  care  not  whence  or 

whither. 

His  sorrows  touch  me  not,  nor  do  his  joys. — 
O   Grass,    why  listenest   thou?     What   dost 

thou  feel  ? 
THE  GRASS  :  I  feel  the  dimpled  coming  of 

sweet  feet. 

A  Child's  Soul  weights  me  with  ineffable  joy. 
THE  ROSE:    What  leads  it  hither? 
THE  GRASS  :  The  Shadow  of  a  Dream. 

SWEET  ALYSSUM:   I  thrill  with  beauty,  and 

my  flowers  take  on 

A  happier  whiteness,  poignancy  of  scent. 
MIGNONETTE  :  Its  young  approach  trembles 

my  roots  like  rain; 

And  one  by  one  I  feel  new  buds  in  me. 
THE  FOUNTAIN  (from  a  distance) :   Bring  it 

to  me!  bring  it  to  me! — I  'm  fain 
To  look  upon  its  face  I  see  afar. 
Let  its  pure  gaze  go  down  in  me  and  change 
My  depths   as   starlight   changes.     Bring  it 
to  me. 


4O  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  in 

THE  WIND  (approaching) :  Yea ;  I  will  bring 

it  to  thee.     Have  no  fear. 
It  shall  be  ours.     I  '11  make  it  thine  and  mine. 
POPPY:    What    is   this   sweet  disturbance, 

balmed  with  love 
As  is  my  bloom  with  dew? — What  shakes  my 

heart, 

Unfolding  all  my  slumber-heavy  leaves? 
Some  dim  delirium  that  anticipates 
Unborn  desire,  that  gives  me  newer  life 
Before    't   is   asked?  ...   In  all  my  opiate 

pods 

I  feel  imperious  perfume,  that  responds 
To  some  approaching  gladness. — What  is  this 
That  makes  the  night  more  beautiful  than 

it  is? 
SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:    A  dream  it  is,  and 

yet  it  is  no  dream. 
A  Soul  it  is— Soul  of  a  little  Child. 

FOXGLOVE:  What  doth  possess  me?    What 

enfolds  my  flowers  ? 
Claims  me,  compels  me?  makes  my  bells  one 

peal 
Of  delicate  pearl,  showering  the  anxious  air 


sc.  ill  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  41 

With  inarticulate  music  of  perfume  ? 

MARIGOLD:    My  amber  dazzles  into  gold, 

like  flame; 
And  the  musked  bitterness,  that   made  my 

bloom 

Acrid  as  sorrow,  is  grown  suddenly  sweet, 
Touched  with  the  moonlight  of  a  Child's  gold 

head. 
PHLOX:    Oh,  what  is  this  strange  beauty 

over  me  ? 
Like  some  long  flower  crowned  with  curling 

fire, 

Yet  fairer  than  the  fairest  lily  that  blows, 
Epitomising  all  of  purity 
And  poetry  in  its  immortal  face. 
THE  WIND  :     Violets  and  windflowers  in  its 

heavenly  hair, 

Innocence  it  is  who  runs  among  the  Flowers. 
I  '11   breathe    upon    its    eyes    and  make  it 

mine, 

And  lead  it  to  the  Fountain  there  to  play. 
SHADOW    OF    A    DREAM:    Would 'st    thou 

mislead  it  ? — Nay ;  this  Soul  is  mine. 
Hither  I  called  it.     It  returns  to  me. 


42  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN          SC.  Ill 

[The  SOUL  OF  A  CHILD  appears. 
SOUL  OP  A  CHILD  :   What  voices  were  those 

that  I  heard,  or  dreamed  ? 
'T  was   as   if    fragrance   spoke.     I    see  but 

Flowers, 

And  feel  the  night  Wind  in  my  dewy  hair. — 
I  thought  I  heard  my  mother  calling  me. 
THE  WIND:    Its  voice  is  like  remembered 

melody. 
THE  ROSE:    Or  like  a  bud  unfolding  into 

flower. 
THE  WIND:    A  Flower  that  shall  be  mine 

within  the  hour. 
SOUL  OP  A  CHILD:  Mother!  0  Mother! — Did 

my  mother  call? — 

Who  is  it  whispers  at  my  ear?  and  sighs 
Sweet  promises  of  something  on  my  eyes? — 
The  Wind!  my  playmate  Wind,  who  flings 

a  ball 

Of  thistledown  before  me.     See  it  bowl ! 
SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:    Wilt  thou  not  see 

me  ?     Look  at  me  at  all  ? 
THE  WIND:  Come,   follow  me!  come  with 
me,  thou  sweet  Soul. 


sc.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  43 

[It  passes  on  dancing  with  the  WIND. 
SHADOW    OF    A    DREAM:     It    follows    the 

Wind.    See  where  it  dances  there ! 
Someway,  somehow,  it  must  return  to  me — 
It  must  return  before  those  Lovers  come. — 
When  will  they  come  ? — I  dare  not  seek  them 

out, 
And   leave   the   Child   to   wander  with    the 

Wind, 

Play  on  the  Fountain's  edge  that  sings  to  it, 
Luring    its    beauty    down, — like    some    pale 

Faery 

That  smiling  clasps,  and,  for  its  loveliness, 
Slays  some  fair  soul  that  listen 'd  to  its  song. — 
Oh,  that  the  Elves  were  here  to  help  me  now! 
The  fair,  protecting  powers  that  have  in  ward 
The  loveliness  and  innocence  of  earth ! 

[Passes  on. 
POPPY:   What  wings,  or  winds,  are   these 

that  bend  my  head  ? — 

I  feel  dim  feet,  like  moonbeams,  on  my  hair. 

[The  ELVES  appear. 

LARKSPUR:  O  languor-laden,  lift  thy  brows 
and  see: 


44  THM-  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  ill 

Fays  are  about  thee,  tiptoe  on  thy  pods. 
ELVES  OF  THE  MOONLIGHT:    Look  at  that 

yellow  spider  on  yon  Rose. 
What  a  huge  web  he  spins  to  catch  one  gnat 
Or  whining  fly!     But  webs  are  snares  for  dew 
As  well  as  gnats ;  his  wondrous  diagram, 
Think    you    he    gat    it   from   his   head?   or 

stomach  ? — 

Wherein  he  carries  this  material, 
The  fluid  silk,  the  nimbly  running  silver, 
From  which  he  weaves  his  lairs. — Old  ingen- 
uity, 

Come,  quit  thy  mathematics!  thy  designs! 
And   leave   thy  web, — that  serves,  in   some 

grey  way, 

The  purposes  of  beauty.  .  .  .  Come,  turn  out, 
Thou  long-shanked  spinner! — So! — Thy  web 

remains 

For  dawn  to  rope  with  rain.     But  thou,  be  off ! 
ELVES  OP  THE  STARLIGHT:  What  makes  the 

air  so  anxious  here  ?     What  holds 
With  tension  as  of  some  large  hope  at  pause, 
Some    purposed    good    perpending    or    per 

formed  ? — 


sc.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  45 

Who  dances  by  the  Fountain  there  ? — 

MOONFLOWER:  A  Child, 

Who  seeks  its  mother  whom  it  can  not  find. 

The  Wind  and  Fountain  lead  its  soul  astray. 

THE  GRASS:  I  felt  its  light  feet  press  me 

and  became 

Its  slave,  albeit,  as  all  Elfins  know, 
I  am  no  servile  thing.     My  heart  is  brave 
With  much  endurance,  and  inured  to  hardship, 
And  strong  with  strength  of  many  years  of 

youth. 
ELVES  OF  THE   STARLIGHT:  Thou  hast   a 

small  voice  for  so  brave  a  thing. 
But  thou  combinest  littleness  with  greatness, 
A  happy  union  that  has  helped  thee  far 
In  hiding  many  a  man-made  scar  of  earth. 
Courage  is  thine ;  nowhere  thou  fear'st  to  go. 
THE  GRASS:   Speak  not  to  me  of  courage. 

Bring  the  Child. 

I  long  to  feel  the  pressure  of  its  feet, 
And  of  the  feet  of  those  for  whom  it  seeks. 
ELVES   OF  THE   MOONLIGHT:   What,   now, 

hath  more  integrity  than  Grass, 
Or  reverence  of  life,  or  joy  in  beauty! — 


46  Tff&   SHADOW  GARDEN  sc.  in 

Not  this  vile  worm  here  on  this  cringing  leaf, 
That  hath  designs  on  yon  deep-bosomed  Rose. 
Out !  thou  legged  gluttony,  with  thy  bristling 

paunch ! 

Wouldst  gorge  on  beauty  always! — Not  to- 
night ! — 

Weeds  be  thy  supper  in  yon  place  of  weeds. 
There  cram  thy  pulpy  gullet  till  thou  burst. 
ELVES  OF  THE  STARLIGHT:  O  Flower  of  the 

Moon,  what  didst  thou  say? — 
A  Child,  a  Soul,  the  Wind  hath  led  astray?— 
There  stands  a  shadow  near  it  like  a  dream. 
MOONFLOWER:  The   Shadow   of  a  Dream 

that  called  it  here 
I  know  not  why. — 'T  is  very  beautiful. 

SOUL  OF  A  CHILD  (prattling  in  the  distance) : 

Come,    dance  with    me,   thou  merry, 

merry  Wind! 

Come,  take  me  by  the  curls  and  carry  me, 
And  toss  me  like  a  puff-ball  o'er  the  Fountain. 
THE  FOUNTAIN:  Come  here  to  me  and  lean 

along  my  marge. 
Come,  let  me   clasp   thee   to  my  foam-cold 

breast. 


sc.  Ill  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  47 

SOUL    OF    A    CHILD:    Not    yet;   not    yet. 

When  I  am  tired  of  play. 
When  I  am  tired  of  play.     Not  yet ;  not  yet. 
ELVES  OF  THE  MOONLIGHT:    Here  is  that 
spider's  mate :  come,  pluck  her  forth, 
The  bloated  horror !     Let  her  follow  him 
Into  the  weeds  and  lay  her  grim  snares  there. 
Luck  send  the  worm  and  all  its  feverish  hair 
Into  her  clutches.     May  she  eat  and  die 
And  so  both  have  an  end ! — Now  let 's  away. — 
ELVES  OF  THE  STARLIGHT:  See!  there  's  a 

light  within  that  yew-tree  coigne, 
Set  round  with   thorns.      It   hovers   o'er  a 

grave. 
Hither  it  comes,  a  Shadow1  trailing  it. 

[The  SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM  appears. 
SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:  Worse  than  a  Will- 

o'-Wisp,  it  will  not  wend 
The  way  that  I  would  have  it. — Elfins,  you, 
Light  people  of  the  starbeams  and  the  moon, 
Assist  me   now.        Drive    ye  that   lanthorn 

hither ; 

That  little  light  which  shines  so  far  away. 
ELVES  OF  THE  STAR-  AND  MOON-LIGHT  (as 


48  Tff£  SHADOW  GARDEN  SC.  ill 

they  leave) :    Aye !  we  will  drive  it  for 
you. — Follow,  follow! 
Come,  brothers,  hunt   it   from  the   haunted 

hollow. 

Be  it  a  Gnome  or  Goblin,  Imp  or  Faery, 
It  shall  come  forth  and   show  us. — Now  be 

wary ! — 
It  can't  escape  us. — Ah !  you  see ! — Surround 

it- 
Well   generaled,    Pixies! — Out   with   it,   and 
hound  it ! 

[Circling  the  FIREFLY  they  chant: 
Drive  it,  drive  it! 
Let  it  not  escape! — 
Keep  it  to  the  right  or  left. — 
Drive  it  in  a  spider's  weft. — 

It  may  take  some  other  shape — 
Worm  or  beetle,  moth  or  eft ; 
Wriggle  in  some  crack  or  cleft, 

In  the  goblin  earth  agape. — 
Drive  it,  drive  it ! 
Let  it  not  escape. 

[The  FIREFLY    appears    surrounded    with 
Elves. 


sc.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  49 

SHADOW  OP  A  DREAM:  Welcome,  thou  wan- 
dering fire ! — Thanks  to  you 
My  airy  ministers  of  dusk  and  dew, 
Who  dance  on  moonbeams,  and  who  make  the 

rays 

Of  starlight  your  pale  bridges.  Go  your  ways ; 
You  have  performed  my  bidding ;  your  reward 
Shall  be  to  tesselate  with  flowers  this  sward, 
And  see  two  souls  made  happy. 

ELVES  OP  THE  STAR-  AND  MOON  LIGHT  :  Come 

away! 

Our  work  is  done  here.  Soon  the  Break  of  Day 
Will  flutter  on  the  hills  her  gown  of  mist, 
And  bind  her  sandals  on  of  amethyst. — 
Our  work  is  done.     Come,  let  us  go  away. 
Back  of  somewhere  we  feel  the  Break  of  Day. 

[ELVES  pass  on. 

FIREFLY:  O  Shadow  with  the  eyes  of  Long- 
ago, 

Pointing  with  violet  light  the  golden  gloom, 
What  wouldst  thou  with  me?     I  obey  thee 

now. 

SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:  Thou  seest  the  little 
Child  who  dances  there  ? — 


5O  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN          sc.  Ill 

Beguile   it   hither,   towards    those   shadowy 

two 
Who  wander  in  the  darkness.      Thou  must 

know 

My  purpose  is  that  it  and  they  shall  meet : 
And  from  that  meeting  happiness  shall  grow. 
FIREFLY  (departing  in  the  direction  of  the 

Child) : 
I  go,  I  go, 

Like  a  will-o'-the-wisp, — 
Let  the  Night-Wind  blow 
And  the  Fountain  crisp : 
From  the  Night-Wind's  lisp 
And  the  Fountain's  flow, 
I  know,  I  know, 

Like  a  will-o'-the-wisp, 

With  a  glimmer  of  green  and  a  flicker  of  gold, 
I  will  lead  the  Child  to  the  place  I  'm  told. 
[The  Shadows  of  the  MAN  and  WOMAN  appear. 
SHADOW  OP  THE  MAN:  Who  lured  our  light 

away? — Where  is  it  gone? — 
I  saw  it  shimmer  here  a  moment  since. — 
What    Shadow   grows   between    us   and   the 
Flowers? 


sc.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  5 1 

SHADOW  OP   A  DREAM:  The   Shadow  of  a 

Dream  that  once  you  knew. 
SHADOW  OP  THE  MAN:  What  Dream  is  that ? 

— Many  have  been  our  Dreams, 
But  all  have  died;  not  one  sweet  Dream  re- 
mains.— 
But  thou — thou  hast  the  lineaments  of  them 

all.  .  .  . 
Mightily  thou  takest  me  by  the  heartstrings 

here 
With  old,  imperishable  longings  lost. 

SOUL  OF  A  CHILD  (in  the  distance) :  Dance, 

little  gleam!     I  'm  tired  of  Wind  and 

Wave. 

And  you  are  lovely  as  a  little  star. — 
Twinkle  again  before  me.     Ah,  you  know, 
I   wish   you  'd  lead    me  where   my  mother 

is. 
Mother!  (Drawing  nearer.)    Mother! — Where 

can  my  mother  be  ? 
[The  SOUL  OF  A  CHILD  appears  following  the 

Firefly. 
SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN:    Some   Child  is 

lost  here  in  this  world  of  Flowers. 


52  :THE  SHADOW  GARDEN       sc.  m 

SOUL  OP  A  CHILD:  Dear,  dancing  light,  to 

lead  me  and  so  far! — 
I    fear    I  'm    lost    now. — See,    the    Flowers 

sleep. 

The  Wind  is  angry  with  me  and  the  Fountain 
Weeps  that  I  have  departed.     I  am  lost, 
So  says  the  Wind,  and  it  knows  everything. — 
Don't  leave  me  now! — 'T  is  gone. — How  still 

it  is! — 
Where  is  my  mother  ? — Mother ! — 

SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:  Little  Soul, 

Here  is  thy  mother  and  thy  father  too. 

SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN:  It  is  our  Child. 

She  is  returned  to  us. — 
O  head  of  gold,  where  hast  thou  been  so 

long? 
SHADOW  OF  THE  MAN:  Thou  didst  not  call 

for  me,  O  heart  of  joy! — 
Look  in  my  eyes.     Know'st  thou  thy  father, 

Child? 
SOUL  OF   A  CHILD:   I  could  not  see    you, 

father,  for  the  Flowers. — 
And  I  have   found   you  both? — How    good 
God  is! 


sc.  in  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN  53 

SHADOW  OF  THE  MAN  :  Our  Child !  our  little 

Joy  come  back  again ! 
SHADOW   OF    THE    WOMAN     (impulsively] : 

Here,  take  our  hands  and  lead  us  from 

this  place, 

0  young-eyed  Innocence,  whose  soul  is  song. 
Long  have  our  hearts  been  grief-bound,  and 

the  night 

Contained  us  and  there  was  no  hint  of  dawn. — 

Long  have  we  waited  for  thy  coming,  Sweet. 

[A  COCK  crows  in  the  dim  distance. 

ALL  THE  FLOWERS  (as  with  one  voice] :  The 

Dawn!  the  Dawn! — It  is  the  Dawn!  the 

Dawn! 

SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM:  Hold  fast  its  hands. 
Now  look  into  my  eyes : 

1  am  the  Dream  that  long  ago  you  dreamed, 
The  Dream  that  never  dies;  that  led  it  here, 
Your  long-lost  Child,  your  little  Innocence, 
Who  holds  your  hands  now  and  will  lead  you 

safe 

Out  of  this  Garden  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 
SOUL   OF  A  CHILD:   How   old  this  Garden 
looks !    How  grey  and  old ! — 


54  THE  SHADOW  GARDEN          so.  m 

'T  is  ghostly  here  and  cold  now  that  the  Dawn 
Wakes  on  the  drowsy  ledges  of  the  hills. 
Grey,  old,  and  sad;  and  all  the  Flowers  are 

changed 

To  sorrowful  lights  that  stare  at  me  like  eyes 

And  chill  me  to  the  heart. — Oh,  let  us  go! — 

Hold  fast  my  hands  and  I  will  lead  the  way. 

[They  pass  out  of  the  GARDEN  and  beyond. 

SHADOW  OP  THE  MAN  :  The  day  breaks,  see ! 

The  darkness  fades  away. 
SOUL  OF  THE  CHILD:    The  darkness  fades 

not :  't  is  the  light  that  comes. 
These  are  the  heights.     See,  here  's  the  Edel- 
weiss. 

How  cold  and  pure  it  looks,  and  so  alone ! — 
Are  Flowers  ever  lonesome,  ever  sad? 
SHADOW  OF  THE  WOMAN  :  All  mortal  things 

are  sad  and  Flowers  die. — 
Sweet  Child,  thy  voice  thrills  through  me  like 

young  song. 
Look!  it  is  Morning.     Mists  sweep  round  us 

here, 
And,  oh,— the  Garden !— See !  the  Garden  's 

gone! 


sc.  in  THE   SHADOW  GARDEN  55 

SHADOW  OF  THE  MAN:  Look  back  no  more. 

Yonder  our  pathway  lies. 
The  Garden  and  its  Flowers  were  merely  mist, 
And  have  returned  to  that  from  which  they 

sprang.— 
Look  back  no  more.     Morning  and  Joy  are 

ours. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR 
A  MYSTERY 


57 


PRESENCES 


A  MAN 

HATE 

PAIN 

LUST 

SIN 

LOVE 

SORROW 


HOPE 

DESPAIR 

DEATH 

TERROR 

DEAD  DREAMS 

SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST 

WlLL-O'-THE-WlSP 


SCENE:  An  ancient  manor  in  a  mighty  forest  near 
the  sea. 

TIME  :  A  mid-winter  night. 


59 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR 
SCENE  I 

A  vaulted  and  gloomy  room  panelled  with  cen- 
turied  oak,  hung  here  and  there  with  gaunt 
portraits  of  men  and  women  of  evil  aspect. 
A  MAN  is  discovered  seated  before  a  great 
hearth  on  which  a  fire  is  slowly  dying.  A 
sound  of  wind  and  wild  rain  outside  the 
House. 

THE   MAN:    Phantoms  grow  thick  around 

me.     Dreadful  shapes 
Materialise  like  mists  that  presage  storm, 
And  the  wild  House  grows  tenanted  with  folk 
No  house  of  earth  hath  ever  known  before — 
Spectres,  chimeras  of  incredible  things. 
Their  coming  fills  the  echoing  corridors 
As  dark  delirium  fills  a  mind  with  dreams. 

Now  't  is  the  fall  of  footsteps,  now  of  robes 
61 


62  THE,  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  SC.  I 

Sweeping  the  empty  darkness  like  dim  winds, 
While  in  the  night  the  House  with  its  dark 

eaves 

Drips  ceaselessly  as  if  it  wept  great  tears — 
Huge  tears,  like  some  stone-giant  left  to  die 
'Mid  petrifying  forests  of  the  Past. 
What   vague   forebodings   fill  my  soul  with 

fear  ? — 

Doom  rides  upon  the  gale,  and  Tempest  drives. 
The  towers  of  the  mansion  shake  with  storm. 
It  seems  the  wailings  of  the  houseless  host 
Of  all  the  dead,  that  earth  and  ocean  hold, 
A  far-off  cry  pursues — It  is  the  hoarse, 
Long,  bitter  challenge  of  the  mindless  sea 
Calling  the  world  to  battle.  .  .  .  What  is  that? 
What  footstep,  iron  on  the  resonant  oak, 
Tramples  the  night  to  terror  with  its  stride  ? — 
What  now  approaches,  titan  in  the  gloom, 
In  elemental  armour? — Canst  thou  speak? — 
Thou  visored  mystery  with  inscrutable  gaze, 
Glaring  unutterable  things  of  hate  and  dread, 
Why  dost  thou  point  thy  mailed  hand  at  me  ? — 
Speak !  from  thy  lips  of  iron  let  me  hear 
The  message  which  thou  bearest  though  it  be, 


sc.  I  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  63 

Like  thy  own  self,  of  steel ;  and  adamant 
My  body  into  marble. 

[As  he  speaks,  forms  slowly  detach  them- 
selves from  the  darkness,  approaching 
and  passing  awfully  in  the  deepening 
gloom. 

HATE:  Thou  know 'st  me  well. 

I  am  that  ancient  Hate  whom  thou  hast  held 
Fast  in  thy  heart  through  all  the  granite  years. 
THE  MAN:  So,  it  is  thou.     Glare  not  upon 

me !— Oh ! 
Thy  eyes  are   flames  that  burn  me   to  the 

bone. — 
Who  waits  behind  thee  ? 

HATE:  Old,  undying  Pain, 

Clothed  in  the  bloodred  livery  of  thy  House. 
His  eyes  are  on  thee.     Canst  thou  not  endure  ? 

[Passes. 
THE  MAN:  The  fever  of  those  never-turning 

eyes 

Searches  my  veins  with  alternating  ice 
And  fire. — Demon,  take  thine  eyes  away! 
Thine  eyes,  that  hold  the  agony  of  the  slain, 
And  all  the  torture  of  forgotten  time. 


64  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  I 

PAIN:  Not  while  thou  livest. 
THE  MAN  :  Down  into  my  heart 

With  all  thy  anguish,  Bloodhound  of  the  Years, 
And  lacerate  it  utterly!  .  .  .  What  shape, 
What  loathsome   thing  is    that   with  tumid 

gaze 
That  gloats  behind  thee? 

PAIN  :  Lust ;  the  mother  of  Woe, 

And  daughter  of  Death  and  Darkness. 

[Passes. 

LUST  :  Look  on  me . 

Turn  not  thy  face  away.     Thou  art  my  slave. 
THE  MAN:  And  once  I  deemed  this  dread- 
ful monster  fair! 

0  God !  O  God ! — Thou  seemest  twain. — Or,  no ! 
Breasted  like  Helen  with  destruction,  lo! 
What  siren  shape  is  that  which  towers  by  thee 
With  lamia  lips  and  eyes  ? 

LUST:  My  sister,  Sin. 

THE  MAN:  Twin  hags  of  Hell  the  Pit  hath 

vomited ! — 

Rather  eternal  night  deep  in  the  grave 
Than  knowledge  of  you. — Oh,  that  now  again 

1  might  be  free  as  once  I  was  ere  Sin 


sc.  I  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  6$ 

Had  soiled  my  soul,  and  Lust  had  mastered 

me! — 

Would  I  might  pour  myself  upon  the  storm ; 
Breast  the  lit  peaks  of  tempest,  condor-like, 
The  insubstantial  Andes  of  the  air, 
And  pass  beyond  the  tyranny  of  these 
Into  the  nothingness,  that  knows  no  name, 
Where  all  is  silence. — What  have  I  to  hope, 
Shut  in  this  House  of  Fear  with  shapes  like 

these ! 

0  God !     Again  to  comrade  with  the  stars ! 
Companion  Beauty  there  among  her  flowers ! 
Clasp  hands  with  Springtime  and  touch  lips 

with  Love ! — 

1  choke  with  horror  here !     Invisible  hands 
Close,    fumbling,    round  my    throat. — What 

curse  is  this  ? — 
LUST  :  The  ancient  curse.     The  hands  of  all 

thy  senses. 

THE  MAN:  Off,  demons!  off! 
SIN:  Be  still  and  listen. — There, 

Behind  a  secret  door,  within  a  room, 
White  as  the  young  divinity  of  Spring, 
What  woman  lies  with  lilies  on  her  breast  ? 
s 


66  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  sc.  I 

THE  MAN  :  One  whom  I  loved ;  dead  by  her 

own  white  hand. 
SIN:    Sayest  thou  so? — But  first  her  soul 

was  slain. — 

Beautiful  her  body  lies.     /  slew  her  soul. 
Look  now !  these  faces ;  pictured  women  and 

men, 

Dark-peopling  these  walls  of  carven  oak — 
What  say  their  sneering  eyes  that  stare  at 

thee?— 
They  know;  for  they  were  soulless  ere  they 

died, 

And  long  to  see  thee  join  their  company. 
THE  MAN:  M^soul  is  still  my  own.     Their 

souls  are  lost. 
Mine  fears  thee  not  though  thou  art  full  of 

fear. 
SIN:  Yea;  yet  thou,  too,  shalt  gladly  give 

thy  soul 
To  me   and   Lust,  who   claims    thy   body's 

pride. 
THE  MAN:  Thou  with  the  eyes  of  hunger, 

thou  who  feed'st 
On  souls  forever  and  art  never  filled, 


sc.  I  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  67 

What  wouldst  thou  with  my  soul  since  theirs 

are  thine  ? 
SIN:   They  satisfy  me  not.      More  must  I 

have 
To  stay  my  appetite  and  keep  me  fair. 

THE   MAN:   Unprofitable   lips,  with  kisses 

worn, 

The  satiated  beast  in  me  forgets; 
Ye   can   not    lure   me    now! — And,    barren 

breasts, 
For  whose  white  beauty  worlds  have  gone  to 

war, 

No  more  can  you  awaken  here  in  me 
The  old,  exhausted  fires  of  desire. 

SIN:  Thou  dost  not  know  thyself  nor  all 

my  power. 
I  know  my  strength   as  all  dead  men  have 

known. 

Desire  sleeps ;  it  waits  my  breath  to  wake : 
Among  their  ashes,  embers,  shrunk  with  age, 
Shall  leap  in  crimson  and  consume  thy  soul. — 
Before  the  burning  ardours  of  my  lips 
Flames    shall    spring  up  where   ashes   were 
before. 


68  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  I 

THE  MAN:    Mother  of  loathing,  back  into 

thy  night ! 

Nothing  in  me  is  thine.     I  am  myself; 
And  the  old  beast  in  me  died  long  ago. 

SIN:  The   lust  in  thee   for    her   who    lies 

within 
Died  not  with  her.     While  that  lives  I  have 

power. 
THE  MAN:  Passion  was  slain  when  Beauty's 

self  was  slain : 

Therefore  my  soul  can  never  turn  to  thee. 
LUST:  Leave  him  to  me.       My  part  is  to 

prepare 

The  banquet  of  the  senses,  where  my  wine 
Reddens  in  beakers  of  perpetual  flame. 
Yea ;  he  shall  drink  again  and  sit  with  me 
Ringed  with  the  burning  eyes  of  women  of 

Hell. 

THE  MAN:  Powerless  I  seem  before  you,  ter- 
rible two ! 

But  there  is  that  in  me  you  know  not  of, 
Or,  knowing,  disregard:  Its  name  is  Love. 
LUST:  Thy  Love  is  lost  in  darkness.     Long 
ago 


sc.  I  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  69 

The  woman  who  lies  dead,  who  dreamed  'twas 

Love, 

Knew  it  for  Lust  and  cast  it  out  and  died. 
THE  MAN:  Yet  it  was  Love.     And  when  it 

summons  me, 

The  gates  of  Night  shall  open  and  the  hosts 
Of  Dawn  rush  in  and  quell  the  hosts  of  Hell. 
LUST:    My  feast,  where   sit  desires  of  the 

world, 

Is  spread;  and  it,  in  spite  of  Heaven  and  God, 

Shall  sit  with  me  and  banquet  with  the  dead. 

THE  MAN  :  I  know  its  strength — the  strength 

of  my  great  Love. 
LUST:  What  was  that  strength  when  first 

I  spake  in  thee, 
And  thou  wast  fain  to  listen? 

THE  MAN  :  Never  more ! 

The  beast  in  me  is  dead!  Dost  hear?  is  slain; 
Never  to  rise  again  with  hydra  heads. 
Love's  falchion  in  its  heart,  it  lies  here — see! 
Look  in  my  eyes  and  know.  .  .  .  What  voice 

was  that 

Sighing  outside  the  door? — O  shades  of  night, 
Why  do  you  tremble  ? — 'T  is  a  voice  I  know. 


70  TH£  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  sc.  I 

VOICE    (outside  the  door):    Long    have   I 

waited  here  for  you  to  open. 
Love  am  I,  lost  in  darkness. 
THE  MAN:  It  is  Love. 


SCENE  II 

A.  high  hall  hung  entirely  with  arras,  sinister ly 
depicting  battles  and  tragedies  of  long-dead 
kings  and  queens.  Sombre  in  the  light 
of  a  solitary  cresset  suspended  before  it 
looms  a  door.  At  the  far  end  of  the  hall 
a  shadowy  stair  of  stone  leads  downward 
into  impenetrable  gloom.  From  the  opposite 
end  of  the  hall  the  MAN  is  seen  approach- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  closed  door. 

THE  MAN:   I  can  not  look  away.      They 

follow  me — 

The  woven  figures  with  malignant  looks, — 
And  threaten  me  with   spears   and    painted 

swords 

The  spirit  of  murder  seems  to  animate. 
The  tapestried  walls  have  eyes  that  scowl  and 

stare. — 
What  and  who  are  you,  dreadful  presences, 


72  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  SC.  II 

That  piled  the   Past  with  havoc  and  fierce 

sins? 

Once  more  do  you  inhabit  these  wild  walls 
And  reap  again  the  harvest  sown  of  death 
In  days  long  gone  ? — Your  shadowy  forms  of 

pain 

Seem  here  constrained  to  suffer  and  enact 
All  the  old  perished  crimes  that  made  your 

Past. 

Endlessly  up  and  down,  now  in,  now  out, 
A  ghostly  interchange  of  gestures  runs, 
And  looks  of  evil  menace  violence ; 
While  over  all,  huge  in  the  vaulted  gloom, 
The  populated  darkness  droops  and  waves 
Wild,  tattered  banners  of  an  old  defeat. — 
Why  am  I  here  ?  This  hall  is  full  of  shapes. — 
And  yonder  stairway  leads  to  vasty  crypts, 
And   dungeoned   cellars   where   no    daylight 

comes, 
And  where  black  terrors  start  from   dropsied 

walls. — 

The  death -moth  ticks  behind  the  tapestry ; 
And  ever  above  and  all  around  me  is 
The  ceaseless  winnowing  of  unearthly  wings ; — 


sc.  ii  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  73 

The  wings   of  ravens? — No! — Perhaps     the 

Dreams 

Once  dreamed  here,  people  insubstantially 
The  hollow  night,  and  make  a  futile  stir 
With  rags  of  raiment,  beating  to  be  free.  .  .  . 
[As  he  speaks,  forms  gradually  evolve  them- 
selves out  of  the  darkness  before  him. 
What  is  yon  mist  that  struggles  into  form  ? 
That  seems  to  have  the  features  of  the  One 
Whom  God  cast  down  from  Heaven  with  his 

host. 
TERROR:  I  am  the  Fear  that  dwells  here; 

who  hath  slain 

The  hearts  in  many.    Canst  thou  look  on  me, 

And  say  thou  dost  not  tremble  ? — I  am  Fear. 

THE  MAN:  Thy    skeleton  hand    is  on  me. 

Yea,  I  tremble! 
What  phantasms  rise? — Among  them  one,  a 

ghost, 

Bleeding  and  blind. 
TERROR:  Look  on  her.     This  is  Love. 

[Is  resolved  into  darkness- 
LOVE:    Blind  was  I  from  my  birth.     The 
wounds  are  Man's. 


74  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  SC.  n 

THE  MAN:  Beautiful  and  blind,  what  man 

hath  wounded  thee? 
LOVE:  Thy  hand  and  every  man's. 
THE  MAN:  No  hand 

of  mine 

Would  do  this  thing  and  still  remain  a  hand. 
[A  wailing  of  wintry  winds  is  heard  above 
rising  into  a  cry  as  of  lamenting  hosts. 
LOVE  :  The  Dreams  that  died  are  clamour- 
ing in  the  night. 
THE  MAN  :  Outside  the  winter  wind  and  icy 

sea 
Rave  to  the  darkness. 

DEAD  DREAMS:  Let  us  in.     We  freeze. 

Why  have  you  barred  us  out  ?    Our  wings  are 

torn, 

And  our  long  hair  drips  constantly  with  rain. 
Our  naked   feet    are    pierced    with  ancient 

thorns. 

Beauty  lies  dead  within  and  we  would  see. 
THE  MAN:  Yea,  ye  shall  see,  O  children  of 

my  soul. — 

Look!  where  they  come,  like  ravens  to  the 
feast. — 


sc.  H  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  75 

[Bird-like  shadows,  clad  in  streaming 
crepe,  circle  around  the  hall,  gazing 
mournfully  at  him  with  strange,  pale 
eyes. 

Your  eyes  have  that  dead  water-look  of  wells 
Spiders  have  spun  erasing  webs  above, 
Veiling  the  living  lymph.      Your   robes  are 

torn 
And    drip   with  storm   as   pines  whose  rent 

limbs  weep 

Dark  resinous  gum ;  and  penury  has  pinched 
Your  forms  to  snail-shell  thinness. 

LOVE:  Never  again 

Shall  you  behold  the  beauty  that  lies  dead, 
That  gave  you  being. — Back  into  the  night ! — 
And  thou,  who  call'dst  them  hither,  now  pass 

on; 

Or  enter  here  with  me  where  Beauty  lies — 
The  form  of  her  whose  white  feet  print  with 

May 

Ways  of  the  morning:  her,  whose  eyes  com- 
mune 

With  the  young  moon  and  the  first  star  of 
eve. 


?6  T&E  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  n 

DEAD   DREAMS:   Alas!  the  Beauty  that  we 

knew  of  old ! 

THE  MAN  :  I  cannot  enter  there  where  Ter- 
ror stands, 

Or  seems  to  stand,  with  eyeless  eyes  of  night. 
DEAD  DREAMS:  Oh,  let  us  in.     Oh,  let  us 

kiss  her  feet ! — 

Love,  turn  us  not  away!  We  are  the  Dreams, 
That  Beauty  dreamed  of  thee,  that  can  not 

die; 

But  still  must  beat  with  ineffectual  wings 
Around  this  falling  mansion  of  the  soul. 
Never  before,  never  before  to  us, 
Love,  wast  thou  cruel.     Never  before  wast 

cruel. 
LOVE:   Your  wails   and    tattered  raiment 

raven-like, 
Would  fill  the  room  with  madness  where  she 

lies, 
Where   he  must   kneel,  and  meet  with  Him 

whose  name 

Means  silence. — O  dishevelled  shades  of  night, 
Back  to  the  storm;  and  weave  your  plangent 

circles 


sc.  ii  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  JJ 

Around  the  towers  of  darkness.     Never  again 
Shall  you  behold  the  face  or  kiss  the  feet, 
The  beautiful  feet,  of  her  who  loved  you  well. 
DEAD   DREAMS:   Alas!   Alas! — Come,  let's 

away!  away! — 

Beauty  is  dead  and  Love  is  cruel  as  Death  I — 
We  can  not  enter,  can  not  kiss  her  now ! — 
Oh,  that  we  too  could  die  as  Beauty  died! 
[Their  voices  are  gradually  mingled  and 
become  identified  with  the  sound  of  the 
tempest  without,  as  they  circle  fantasti- 
cally above  and  disappear  trailing  away 
like  sorrowful  tatters  of  mist. 
THE  MAN:  What  face  is  that,  confronting,  at 

the  door? 

It  has  the  look  of  one  who  fears  to  die. 
Its  brows  are  as  the  brows  that  mind  informs 
The   mists  and  clouds  with,  giving  shadowy 

shape 

Of  wild  transfiguration  that  regards 
Its  maker  with  malignant  threatening. — 
And  now,  meseems,  it  features  my  own  face — 
But  older,  darker,  wilder  than  I  know, 
With  all  the  horror  of  approaching  death. 


78  TffE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  n 

SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST:  I  am  thyself.     Thou 

lookest  on  thy  Self. 
THE  MAN:  Strange  shape!      Thou  art  like 

me  and  yet  unlike ! — 

I  feel  that  thou  art  shadow,  yet  thou  seemest 
Real  as  this  arm  of  mine  that  now  I  clutch. — 
There  is  no  glass  here.  But  thou  hast  a 

shape ; 

A  shape  of  fear,  calamitous  as  time, 
Full  of  old  battles,  shipwrecks  ?and  lost  wars, 
And   hapless  loves,  the    hell-hounds   of  the 

soul. — 
SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST:    I  am  a  mirror. — 

Thou  shouldst  know  me  well. 
THE  MAN:  And    yet    naught   else    is    mir- 
rored   here   beside: 

Neither  the  form  of  Joy,  that  's  of  the  Past, 
Nor  Beauty  that  lies  dead  within  yon  room; 
Only  strange  fear  of  something  that  impends 
Forever,  and  postponed  forever;  dread, 
Inevitable  that  still  awaits  me  there 
In  old  depopulated  darkness. — See ! 
Thou  changest  now;  thou  waverest  like  thin 

heat 


sc.  II  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  79 

On  summer  fields.    Perspective  is  there  none. 
Around  thee  all  is  night,  and  night  defines 
The  blacker  outline  of  thyself  that  speaks. 
SHADOW  OP  THE  PAST:  As  I  pass  thou  shalt! 
[Slowly  vanishes,  as  moisture  fades  from 

the  surface  of  a  mirror'. 
LOVE  :  Gazest  far  too  long 

On  that  which  profits  thee  and  me  no  more. 
THE  MAN:  In  these  wild  halls  what  mys- 
teries are  at  home ! 

Each  corner  grows  its  spectres:  here  they  rise, 
Like  fungi  of  the  forest,  vast,  deformed, 
And  vanish  in  a  moment :  there  they  gaze 
From  darkness  and  the  arras  of  the  walls 
With  strange,  inhuman  eyes. — Now  comes  a 

light, 

Vaunt-courier  of  some  mystery,  or  phantom. — 
Cadaverous  echoes  of  forgotten  dooms 
Attend  it,  veiled,  and  of  colossal  stride. 

[A  WILL-O'-THE-WISP  appears  above  the 
stairs  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall  At  the 
same  time  a  subterranean  sound  of 
something  approaching  is  heard,  inevit- 
able and  indescribably  old. 


8O  THE   HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  n 

This  gaunt  House  in  its  towering  woods,  the 

wind 

Raves  to  continually,  like  a  beast  of  prey 
Questing  the  cry  of  the  rock- warring  sea ; 
This  ghost -house  with  its  cave-like  corridors, 
And  labyrinthine  echoes  wandering  by 
Or  trailing  phantom  robes :  this  House  of  Fear, 
Hung   with   the  crumbling  greatness  of  the 

Past: 
Behind  whose  worm-bored  wainscots  shrieks 

and  starves 

The  gnawing  rat:  where  portraits  of  the  dead, 
With  eyes  of  soulless  speculation,  stare, 
As  if  they  saw  how  Hope  had  perished ;  saw 
And  scorned  the  secrets  of  the  inner  gloom, 
Where  all  Life  loves  lies  dead,  mid  dust  and 

dreams, 

Wrapped  in  the  glory  of  her  golden  hair ; 
This  House,  this  ancient  pile,  holds  nothing 

more, 

After  this  passes,  that  my  soul  shall  dread, 
Shall   shrink  to   face,  feeling  that  this  that 

comes 
Epitomises  all  the  forms  of  fear. 


sc.  II  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  8 1 

LOVE  :  Here  will  it  enter.     Enter  thou  with 

me. 

She  who  lies  dead  within  has  waited  long. 
THE  MAN  :  This  Presence  that  approaches — 

what  is  it  ? 

Fain  would  I  meet  it  and  yet  fear  to  meet. — 
[A  bell  is  heard,  far  off,  hollowly  striking 

the  hour. 
'T  is  midnight. — Hark! — Was  that  an  owlet's 

scream  ? — 
Now  sleeping  graveyards  whisper  ghosts ;  and 

tombs 
Groan  forth  their  spectres;  and  in  haunted 

rooms 
Death  leans  and   leers  into  the  sick  man's 

dream. 
Open  the  door :  I  will  go  in  to  her. 

LOVE  :  The  door  is  open.     Enter  thou  with 

me. — 

Cover  thy  face  lest  Beauty  make  thee  blind. 

[As  the  door  closes  on  them  the  cresset,  hung 

before  its  entrance,  flares,  flickers  and  is 

suddenly  extinguished.       At  the  same 

time  a  WILL-O'-THE-WISP  makes  itself 


82  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  SC.  n 

apparent  advancing  glimmeringly  from 

the  stair. 
WILL-O'-THE-WISP:  Good!  it  is  dark.      A 

bat  could  see  here  now. 
Let  me  and  Darkness  trip  it  with  my  light. 
Naught    likes    me    better. — Ho,    my  gossip, 

Night, 
What  sayest  thou  ?     Wilt  dance  a  round  with 

me? 
Old  Flibberty-Jibberty,  the  Foul  Fiend,  and 

Lob 

Once  at  a  witches'  Sabbath  taught  it  me — 
The  only  dance  that  's  decent ;  one  that  goes 
To  de adman-music  well  at  revelries 
Of   Imps  and   Warlocks  when  the   tempest 

sings, 
Through  which  each  hag  comes  whirling  on  her 

crutch. 

— A  nightmare  caper  now !  around !  around ! 
Hey!  zig-zag  up!  fantastically!  so! — 
Ho!  ho!  Old  gammer  Night!  ho!  ho!— What's 

this ! — 

Why,  there  's  no  window ! — Where  's  the  win- 
dow gone  ? 


sc.  II  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  83 

The  thing  's  unheard  of!    Hall  without  a  win- 
dow!— 

How  shall  I  ever  flit  into  the  fields? — 
The  devil  take  a  House  like  this !  With  doors 
And  never  a  window  in  its  crypts  and  halls. 
It  's  like  a  tomb ! — Ho !  give  me  ruins !  ay ! — 
Large  outlooks,  neighbour  to  a  marsh  or  fen: 
Ruins,  with  casements  wide  to  bog  and  brake, 
Where   any  ghost   can   show   his  brimstone 

face 
And  clank  till  cockcrow.     Where  I  too  can 

dance 

My  phosphor  flicker  for  the  wayfarer, 
Who  shudders  by,  cloak-huddled  to  his  eyes. — 
'T  is  a  brave  night  for  leading  folks  astray ! 
Hark!  how  the  rain  and  wind  are  fighting 

now! — 

Would  I  Were  in  that  oozy  ambuscade 
Of  wood  and  marish  near  the  ruined  church 
That  cringes  mid  its  graves  and  whispering 

grass!— 

Ho!  ho!  ho!  ho!  There  I  should  be  at  home, 
And  with  my  gipsy-fire  devil  him, 
Old  Superstition  on  his  homeward  way. — 


84  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  n 

What  's  that?  a  rat?  fumbling  and  scratching 

there 

Behind  the  mangy  arras? — Ho!  ho!  ho! — 
Come  out  of  there,  old  Caesar! — Tis  no  rat!— 
It  hath  a  horror  as  of  talons  in  it. — 
Whose  bony  fingers  grope  the  rotting  oak? — 
Ho  there !  what  thing  art  thou  ? 
A  VOICE:  Death. 

WILL-O'-THE-WISP:      Good  friend  of  mine. 
[The  Presence  of  DEATH,  like  an  intensi- 
fied darkness,  makes  itself  apparent  in 

the  night. 
What!  hast  thou  lost  thy  way  in  this  curst 

House  ? 

Or  dost  thou  search  out  some  peculiar  prey? — 
I  had   forgot ; — all 's  thine   that    lived    here 

once. 
Ho!  ho!  old  Ribs-and- Jaws,  there  's  naught 

for  thee 
To  flesh  thy  fangs  on  here. — What!  art  thou 

blind?— 

Thy  empty  sockets  stare.     A  pity! — For 
My  lamp  might  light  thee  if  thou  hadst  but 

eyes: 


sc.  ii  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  85 

And  thou  and  I,  old  Bones,  why,  thou  and  I 
Might  make  discoveries. 

DEATH:  Out!  thou  vagabond 

fire! 

Thou  syllable  of  flame !  I  am  not  blind . — 
These  holes  of  night,  though  seeming  eyeless 

pits, 
Belt    with   a    glance   the   world,   and   there 

behold 

All  things  that  be  and  all  that  are  to  be, 
Whose  patrimony  is  a  little  mold.  .  .  . 
There  is  one  here  who  appertains  to  me. 
WILL-O'-THE-WISP:  Thy  grey  Ivoice  rattles 

in  thy  empty  skull 

Thin  as  a  dry  seed  in  a  withered  pod. — 
Go  thy  dull  way  of  dust  and  leave  me  here 
To  dance  with  gammer  Darkness. 

DEATH:  Fire  of  Hell, 

Come,    follow    me.        I    have    a    place    for 

thee 

In  my  economy.     I  like  thee  well. 
Thy  attitude  of  pert  equality, 
Of  braggart  egotism,  but  conceals 
Thy  real  endowments. 


86  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  n 

WILL-O'-THE-WISP:   So. — I  see  thou  art 
The  same  loose  wag  thou  wast  when  Hell  and 

Sin 

Ushered  thee  into  being.     Judgment  Day 
I  11  dance  to  thy  cracked  fiddling. — Go  thy 

way. 
DEATH  :   Thou  wisp  of  fire,  I  '11  snuff  thee 

out!    Thou  spark! 
Thou  wink  of  arrogant  flame,  thou  speak'st 

to  Death! 
Feel'st  thou  no  terror  at  that  name? — Thou 

imp, 
Less  than  the  filth  that  breathed  thee !    Look 

on  me! 

lhave  made  glory  ashes ;  the  estate 
Of  majesty  and  greatness,  dust  and  dung. 
WILL-O'-THE-WISP:  I    am,    indeed,    abun- 
dantly impressed. 
But  I  am  nothing  if  not  frivolous, 
Even  with  my  superiors,  such  as  thou. 
All  recognise  thy  greatness.     But  with  me 
Familiarity  is  second  nature, 
And    I    have    claims   upon    thee,   as    thou 

knowest. 


sc.  II  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  8? 

But   let  them  go,   old    gaffer.      I  Ve    been 

taught. 

I  Will  conduct  myself  more  circumspectly, 
And  with  a  phosphor-twinkle  now  and  then 
Observe  the  forms,  salaams,  obeisances, 
The  deference  due  to  thee,  that  all  observe 
When  thou  hold'st  audience  in  the  Courts  of 

Night. 
DEATH:  Thou  garrulous  glimmer,  take  thy 

folly  off! 

Dance  anywhere  but  here. — I  've  work  to  do. 

This  is  the  door  on  which  I  now  must  knock. 

WILL-O'-THE-WISP:  Knock!  and  the  Fiend 

knock  with  thee !     Knuckle-Bones! 
I  go  to  hang  upon  the  topmost  lintel, 
To    watch    thee    and    Damnation    at    your 

business. 
Now  to  thy  hangman  work.    I  'm  fixed  to  see. 

[DEATH  knocks  solemnly  upon  the  door> 


SCENE  III 

A  room  hung  entirely  with  black.  The  body  of 
a  beautiful  woman  lying  upon  a  bier.  A 
taper  burning  at  her  head  and  feet.  The 
MAN  is  kneeling  at  her  side.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  bier  the  Presence  of  LOVE 
is  perceived,  a  wavering  effulgence  as  it 
were  of  samite  whiteness.  On  either  side 
of  the  MAN  stand  two  shadows,  of  in- 
distinguishable form. 

LOVE:  Two  stand  beside  thee.     Wilt  thou 

look  on  them? 
THE  MAN:  Who  are  these   spectres    eyed 

with  swords  of  light  ? 
LOVE:  Night-born,  the  ministers  of  Death 

and  Dreams, 

Despair  and  Sorrow,  daughters  of  Desire. 
THE  MAN:    Like  some  gaunt  cedar,  that 

the  fire  of  God 
88 


sc.  ill  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  89 

Hath  cloven  to   the  core,  thou   rear'st  thy 

form, 

Tattered  with  tempests  of  the  ruining  world, 
With  all  Night's  ravens  of  dark  dreams  around 

thee. — 
Why  art  thou   here   where   Beauty    lies  in 

state? 
DESPAIR:    I  heard  the  summons  of  a  heart 

— and  came. 
SORROW:  Look  on  me  now:  turn  not  thy 

gaze  away. 
THE  MAN  :  Thou  with  the  brows  of  rock  and 

ragged  hair 
Of  tangled  cloud,  like  some  lone  crag  where 

storm 

And  all  the  wild  waves  of  the  ocean  beat, 
What  message  dost  thou  bear  me  and  my 

heart? 

I  have  beheld  thee  somewhere. — Was  it  there, 
Before  the  dark  beginning  of  this  life, 
In  some  lost  star?  or  in  the  arid  moon? 
When   Earthquake  bellowed  on  the   cosmic 

peaks 
And  continents  went  down  in  cataclysm, 


9O  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  SC.  ill 

And  all  I  loved  was  swallowed  up  in  night ; 
And  old  Oblivion  ruled? — Oh,  was  it  there, 
In  that  pre-natal  life,  that  turn'd  to  stone, 
Thou  gottest  thy  marmorean  countenance  ? — 
Thou  sayest  all  the  woe  of  all  the  World 
Unto  my  soul  with  anguish  of  thy  eyes. 
SORROW:  I  am  the  Sorrow  that  can  never 

weep; 
The  heartbreak  of  the   world,  that   sees  its 

dreams 

Perish  and  pass,  and  Beauty's  self  destroyed. 
Adam  hath  known  me  and  the  Sons  of  Adam ; 
And  on  the  hearts  of  all  the  Daughters  of  Eve 
I  've  trodden  and  shall  tread  for  evermore. 
THE  MAN:  Thou  hast  the  look,  the  unfor- 

getable  gaze, 
Of  all  I  Ve  loved  and  lost. — Stand  near  to 

me. 

I  Would  not  have  thee  turn  thine  eyes  away. 
[A  knock  is  heard  upon  the  door. 
LOVE:  Death  knocks.     Art  thou  prepared? 
THE  MAN:  I  am  prepared. — 

Why,  who  would  live  when  all  he   loved  is 
dead! 


sc.  in  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  9! 

And  prayer  and  toil  and  tears  can  help  no 

more! 
O   Death!   O  welcome  Death! — Now  may  I 

quit 
This  House  of  Fear  that  God  hath  shut  me 

in!— 
The  mystery  men  call  God,  who  dowers  us 

with 
The  senses  which,  with  time,  make  us  their 

slaves. — 

What  difficulties  puts  He  in  our  way, 
Bidding  us  master  them! — His  puppets  we, 
Who  work    His    will — whatever    that    may 

be—- 
While He,  calm-eyed,  regards  our  agonies. — 
When  we  confront  Him  on  that  Day  of  Days, 
What  will   He   say? — When  terrible  face  to 

face, 

How  shall  He  answer  us  and  how  explain 
And  justify  Himself  for  all  He  's  done? 

SORROW  :  Thy  words  seem  wailings  of  the 

mindless  sea. 
DESPAIR:  Is  this  His  work?  she  who  lies 

perished  here, 


92  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  sc.  in 

Crowned  with  her  youth  and  beauty,  like  a 

bloom, 

Amid  imperial  presences  of  Doom? 
THE  MAN:  Yea;  even  so.     But  wherefore 

dost  thou  ask? 

SORROW:  God  had  no  hand  in  this. 
THE  MAN  :  He  set  a 

task 
Too  difficult  for  Love. 

SORROW:  But  not  for  Sin. 

DESPAIR:   'T  was  Sin  who  let  the  hosts  of 

darkness  in. 
SORROW:    Bow  down!  bow  down! — What 

hast  thou  now  to  say? 
THE  MAN:  Nothing  to  thee  or — God. 
LOVE:  Bend  low 

and  pray. 
THE  MAN:   O   God!    O  God!    would  that 

the  night  were  gone ! 
DESPAIR:  Thy  night  shall  never  go.— What 

of  the  dawn, 

O  watcher  of  the  world  within  the  night ! 
DEATH  (outside  the  door) :  I  see  no  promise 

yet  of  any  light. 


sc.  in  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  93 

THE  MAN  :  Despair  and  ancient  Sorrow  an- 
swer me. — 
Man  questions;   darkness   answers,    and  the 

sea 

That  separates  the  silences  of  Life 
Where    Doubt   and   Death   stand    evermore 

at  strife. 

And  in  Man's  soul  a  voice  of  centuried  wrong 
Ululates  ever. — Oh,  where  now  the  song 
That  Hope  once  murmured  me,  the  sweet  of 

word? 
DESPAIR:    Hope,  too,  is  dead,  and  Faith, 

the  golden  bird. 
Lost,  lost  forever  as  thy  soul  is  lost. 

THE   MAN:    Then  let    me  die.       O,  thou, 

Love's  beautiful  ghost, 
Fling  wide  the  door ! 

LOVE  :  This  was  thy  punishment. — 

Lift  up  thy  face  now;  see  what  God  hath  sent. 
THE  MAN:  Who  is  this?   swift  on  unsup- 
ported feet 

Drawing  aeolian  music  with  him?  Stars 
Helmet  his  head ;  and  from  his  hands  of  light 
Effulgent  azure  pours  and  irised  day. 


94  THE  HOUSE   OF  FEAR  sc.  ni 

Sword-like  he  glitters ;  bright,  illumined,  vast; 
And  as  with  Raphael  pinions  covers  me, 
Winnowing  the  night  with  wonder. — Fair  as 

dawn, 

With  mystery  and  marvel,  there  he  stands, 
Shimmering    like    light    that    lies    on    rain- 
weighed  ferns 

When  over  emerald  hollows  rumour  runs 
Of  Morn,  rose-lipp'd,  who  from  her  brows  of 

day 

Brushes  the  gold  cloud  of  her  hair  and  lets 
The  azure  of  ineffable  eyes  laugh  through. 
[The  Shadows  of  DESPAIR  and  SORROW 
have  dimmed  till  hardly  distinguishable 
in  the  halo  of  brightness  that  emanates 
from  the  Presence  of  HOPE. 
HOPE:  I  am  the  last  on  whom  thine  eyes 

shall  gaze, 

As  I  was  first  to  greet  thee  into  life. — 
I    am  the    one    who    can    not    die;    though 

slain, 

I  but  arise  again,  Immortal  Hope, 
Forever  with  thee,  though  thou  say,  "Hope's 
dead." 


sc.  ill  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  95 

THE  MAN  :  O  shape  of  song  and  everlasting 

light, 

Again  thy  eyes,  like  steadfast  stars  of  morn, 
Rest  on  the  moving  waters  of  my  soul. 

HOPE:    Fear  not.      Be   comforted.     Peace 

keep  thy  soul. 

Despair  and  Grief  can  touch  thee  never  more- 

Before  my  splendour,  lo!  their  forms  are  mist 

Swept  seaward  by  the  great  winds  of  my  joy. 

THE  MAN:  Let  come  what  will  now!  thou 

beside  me  here, 
I  dread  no  more. — 

[DEATH  slowly  enters  through  the  door  LOVE 
holds  open. 

What  shape  is  that? 
HOPE:    He,  to  whose  countenance  all  life 

must  come. 
LOVE  :  Have  courage.     Death  is  swallowed 

up  in  me. 
THE  MAN:  Light  breaks  around  me  and  the 

winds  of  dawn 

Sweep  the  wild  mists  of  tempest  far  to  sea. 
There  is  no  darkness  now,  but  rivered  light, 
Flowing  from  out  the  source  of  boundless  day. 


96  THE  HOUSE  OF  FEAR  sc.  m 

And  Beauty,  who  I  dreamed  was  dead,  behold, 
The  woman  who  lies  here  crowned  with  life's 

thorns, 
Beckons  me   yonder  from  the   daybreak! — 

there, 

Silver  and  snow,  above  the  infinite  blue. 
She  beckons  and  the  ancient  House  is  rent : 
Its  towers  fall  and  its  foundations  sink, 
And  the  great  winds  of  God  lift  high  its  dust 
And  sow  it  through  the  night  that  drives  a-sea : 
And  I  am  free  to  run  and  shout  with  morn 
Upon  her  hills,  one  with  the  Sons  of  Heaven, 
And  all  the  stars !  .  .  . 

[DEATH  touches  him  solemnly.     He  turns 

and  looks  smilingly  into  his  face,  and 

then  like  a  child  lays  himself  down,  as 

it  were,  to  sleep. 
HOPE:          Where  now  thy  House  of  Fear? 


THE  WITCH 

A  MIRACLE 


97 


REPRESENTATIONS 

A  WITCH,  REPRESENTING  MORTAL  SIN. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  EVIL. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  GOOD. 

A  WOODCUTTER,  REPRESENTING  IGNORANCE. 

A  LITTLE  BOY,   ) 

v  REPRESENTING  INNOCENCE. 
A  LITTLE  GIRL,  ) 

LOB,  ) 

>•  MINISTERS  OF  EVIL. 
HOB,  ) 

A  DEMON,  IN  THE  FORM   OF   AN  APE,  THE 

WITCH'S  FAMILIAR. 
AN  OWL,~| 
A  COCK,  KMPS. 
A  CAT,    J 

TIME:  Midnight. 


99 


THE  WITCH 

SCENE  I 

Interior  of  the  WITCH'S  hut.  A  fire  burning 
on  a  rude  hearth  beneath  a  simmering 
cauldron  over  which  the  APE  is  bending. 
The  CAT  sits  near,  watching  his  every 
movement;  the  COCK  and  OWL  glower  down 
from  the  cobwebbed  rafters,  that  are  hung 
with  fantastic  paraphernalia  gathered  from 
the  forest  and  field,  such  as  skins  of 
snakes,  beasts,  birds,  and  dried  masses  of 
herbs,  pods,  gourds  and  flowers. 

APE:    Seven  times  the  cauldron  rumbled; 

seven  times  more 

The  brew  must  bubble  and  be  muttered  o'er. — 
What  of  the  night,  O  Imp  made  like  a  Cock? 
COCK:  The  white-eyed  moon  is   up.     'T  is 
twelve  o'clock: 

101 


IO2  THE    WITCH  sc.  i 

The  Elfin  host  is  whirling  on  the  moor, 

And  round  the  graves  the  dead-men's-candles 

flock. 
APE  :  'T  is  time  to  add  the  nightshade  to  the 

brew. — 

How  works  the  Abracadabra  that  she  drew 
There  on  the  ceiling  o'er  thee,  Imp  and  Owl? 
OWL  :    The  letters  burn,   blood-red ;    some 

fair,   some  foul. 
CAT:  Woe  to  you  should  the  charm  fail,  be 

at  fault! 

APE  :  And  to  you  all. — Time  for  the  Dead- 
Sea  salt. 
CAT:  She  would  transfix  us,  jail  us  in  the 

stone, 

The  hottest  torture-place  of  this  her  hearth. 
APE:    And  there   forever  we  should  mew 

and  moan. 
CAT  :  And  whine  and  whimper,  having  little 

mirth. 
APE  :  The  flame  grows  fulvous ;  voices  try  to 

speak 

In  every  bubble ;  scum  begins  to  streak 
The  glaucous  surface  of  the  brew  with  slime. — 


sc.  i  THE    WITCH  103 

Strange,  cabalistic  characters  take  form. 
CAT:  Read!  read! — What  do  you  read? — 

What  says  the  charm? 
APE:  It  is  not  perfect  yet.     It  is  not  time. 
All  that  I  know,  it  worketh :  one  draws  near. 
OWL:  Who?  who? 
COCK:  He  knows  not. 

APE  :  'T  is  a  form 

of  fear. 
CAT:   A  moment  there  two  eyes,  like  red 

coals,  gleamed, 
What  time  the  Cock  crowed  and  the   Owlet 

screamed. 
APE  :  Look !  look ! — the  embers  seem  to  lose 

their  glow 

In  deeper  crimson  entering  from  below. — 
Quick,  Imps,  come  hither!  spread  abroad  your 

wings, 

This  side  and  that,  and  fan  and  never  miss! — 
Each  little  demon  in  the  fire  that  springs 
Is  clamouring  for  attention. — How  they  hiss ! 

CAT:  O  demon  in  an  Ape,  it  is  the  brew, 
The  magic  broth  itself,  that  laughs  at  you ! 
Or  tries  to  speak  a  bubble-mumbled  word. 


104  THE    WITCH  sc.  I 

APE  :    'T  is   true ;    't  is    true ! — The   sound 

conies  from  the  pot. 

Shrilly  it  whistles  like  some  vampire-bird. 
A  red  steam  rises;  blood-red;  glowing  hot, 
Rolling  above  the  brim:  a  face,  a  form 
It  now  evolves. — Look  at  its  burning  eyes, 
And  the  forked  beard,  red  as  the  flame  that 

tries 

To  indicate  its  mouth. — It  lifts  its  arm. — 
Master,  't  is  thou ! 

[The  Spirit  of  EVIL  appears  and  steps, 
sardonically  smiling,  from  the  cauld- 
ron. The  APE  flings  himself  upon  his 
face  before  him,  while  the  CAT  crawls  on 
its  belly,  whining  and  mewing,  to  his 
feet,  and  the  COCK  and  the  OWL  flutter 
wildly  overhead  crowing  and  hooting. 
EVIL  :  And  knew  ye  not 

'twas  IP- 
Have  you  forgot  so  soon  the  speech  of  Hell? 
The  symbol-language,  and  the  serpent-sign? — 
Needs  must  ye  see  me,  ay!  before  ye  know! — 
Now,  by  the  Pit!  earth  dulls  your  wits.     I  '11 
swear 


sc.  I  THE    WITCH  10$ 

Fire  taught  you  to  be  quicker  there  below 
Than  earth  and  water  teach  you  here ! — How 

else? 

You  heads  of  tar  and  mud !  not  to  divine 
'T  was  I  addressed  you  through  the  bubbling 

brew! 

Having  a  message  that  I  would  impart 
Without      appearing.  —  Blunderheads      and 

blocks, 
Who  name  yourselves  my  workmen!   Imps, 

forsooth ! — 

Wittols,  who  need  a  flail  of  sulphur-flame 
And  whips    of    fire    to    sharpen    your    dull 

wits. 
APE:  Spare  us,  O  Master!  Flay  us  not  with 

fire! 

Our  fault  it  Was  not. — She,  our  earthly  Mis- 
tress, 

Neglected  to  communicate  to  us 
The  cipher  through  whose  aid  it  is  we  read, 
And  she  interprets  all  thy  messages, 
Spoken  in  symbols  and  in  shadowy  runes. 
EVIL:  The  hag  said  naught  to  you  off  one 

expected  ? 


IO6  THE    WITCH  sc.  i 

APE  :  Only  of  something  due  thee  here  to- 
night, 
Two  lives,  she  is  reluctant  to  surrender. 

EVIL  :  She  grows  too  difficult  of  my  control 
As  she  grows  older.     When  her  years  were 

less 

She  was  more  willing  to  make  sacrifice, 
And  dance  the   nights   out  in  the   arms   of 

Evil.— 
Where   is   she   now? — Where    doth    the   hag 

delay  ? 
APE  :  O  Lord  of  Night,  we  know  not. — Ere 

the  moon 

Had  topped  the  hills  she  mumbled  to  herself 
And  went  to  gather  magic  in  the  Wood, 
Leaving  us  here  to  'tend  this  brewing  charm. 
EVIL:    Magic,  thou  slave? — What    magic? 

and  for  whom? 
APE:  Ingredients  for  the  charm  that  now 

we  brew. 
EVIL:  What  charm?  for  what? — Her  time 

is  overdue. — 

We  need  no  charms  here  at  a  sacrifice ; 
My  presence  is  sufficient.     Sorcery 


sc.  I  THE    WITCH  IO/ 

Hath  some  sick  secret  here  I  know  not  of — 
At  least  its  dim  import  escapes  my  reading. — 
An  hour  ago  she  should  have  sacrificed. — 
If  she  have  not  by  cockcrow  she  is  mine. 

APE  :  Preparatory  to  some  sacrifice 
She  said  she  made  this  brew;   then  Wove  a 

spell 

To  bind  two  lives,  demanded  as  thy  due, 
Two  infant  lives>  there  in  the  ancient  wood. 
EVIL:  So  she  comes  round  again! — Or  am 

I  fooled?— 

Last  year  she  bungled — let  the  child  escape — 
And  seemed  nowise  concerned. — It   was  the 

first; 

And  I  was  lenient  with  her ;  heretofore 
Each  year,  for  many  years,  with  promptitude 
The  sacrifice  was  made. — I  half  suspect 
She  wearies  of  her  bargain,  and  again 
Defaults  in  payment  of  the  Innocent. — 
Woe  to  her  if  't  is  true,  if  she  should  fail. — 
Two  lives  are  due  me ;  me,  who  have  prolonged 
Her  mortal  life  of  sin  beyond  all  men's. 

APE:  Yea,  she  remembers  and  will  keep  her 

word. 


IO8  THE    WITCH  sc.  I 

Two  lives  she  hath  provided ;  they  will  come. 
EVIL:  So  stands  the  bond. — But  where  doth 

she  delay? 
Let   her    produce   the    infants! — Where    are 

they?— 
Much  I  suspect  her  heart  is  softening. — 

APE:  Lord  of  eternal  Fire,  an  hour  ago 
My  Mistress  sent  two  Fiends  to  bring  these 

babes 

Her  arts  had  lured  into  the  forest  near, 

Holding  them  there,  lost,  till  the  demons  find. 

EVIL  (pacing  impatiently  to  and  fro) :  Long, 

long,  too  long,  yea,  I  am  made  to  wait, 

Like  some  vile  minion  of  her  own  vile  hearth ! 

The  warted  Witch !  the  hag  of  mole  and  wen ! 

Would  she  were  here  now  for  my  hands  to 

rend! 
APE:  Hark!  limping  footsteps  hobble  to  the 

door. 
EVIL:  Tis  she. 

[The  WITCH  enters,  leaning  on  a  crutch- 
handled  cane;  a  bag  bulging  with  forest 
flora  on  her  bended  back. 
Thou  hag!  Why  hast  thou  thus  delayed? 


SC.  I  THE    WITCH  IO9 

WITCH  (bowing  and  cringing) :  Your  Majesty 

is  early — by  an  hour ! — 

It  was  the  hour  of  one,  not  twelve,  your  slave 
Set  for  the  sacrifice. — My  memory  's  bad, 
But  I — he !  he ! — I  made  a  memorandum ; 
That  is,  my  Cock  there  did,  who  is  my  clock: 
He  '11  tell  you  to  the  second  all  that  's  done 
And  all  to  do;  no  book  is  more  correct. 

EVIL:  Where  are  the  victims? — What  care 

I  for  time ! 
WITCH  :  They  will  be  here  anon.    Have  thou 

no  fear. 

My  ministers,  old  Lob  and  Hob,  good  Fiends, 
Have  them  in  care,  and,  long  ere  this,  have 

found. — 

They  come  anon,  he !  he ! — Ay!  they  will  come. 
EVIL:  Thou  art  too  sure.      Sure  Wast  thou 

once  before. 

Beware,  lest  thy  unbounded  surety 
Lead  thee  too  far — and  fail  me  as  before, 
A  year  ago,  whenas,  at  thy  connival — 
Nay,    never    shake    thy    grizzly    head,     old 

Witch!— 
Thou  didst  abet  it,  well  I  read  thy  face, 


IIO  .      THE    WITCH  sc.  I 

And  heart  too,  seeing  how  thy  soul  rejoiced 
When,  at  thy  very  door,  the  child  escaped. — 
Thou  didst  default  then ;  and  I  did  condone : 
On  this  condition:  that  two  lives  be  rendered, 
This  night,  this   hour  to  me,  and  youth  ex- 
tended 
Thy  wretched  body  for  another  year. 

WITCH  :  Those  lives  are  due  thee  and  they 

shall  be  thine. 

He !  he ! — I  'm  honest.      I  discharge  my  debts 
Even  when  I  hate — Oh !  I  'm  an  honest  witch ! 
EVIL:  Honest?     Ho!  ho!— Thou  shalt  dis- 
charge thy  contract. 
Swear  it,  or  else  now  forfeit  me  thy  soul! 
WITCH:    Make  me  the  black  beast  which 

thou  straddlest 
When  howls  the  Witches'  Sabbath,  and  the 

storm 
Flogs  the  wild  hills  with  rain,  and  whips  of 

wind 

Lash  mad  the  forests  over  which  they  drive 
On  hazel-branch   and    broom    and    rags    of 

cloud, 
If,  at  the  hour,  I  make  not  good  my  word ! 


sc.  I  THE    WITCH  1 1 1 

EVIL:   Well  sworn! — I  '11  ride  thee  to  the 

next  carousal ! 
What  hast  thou  there? — there,  in  thy  ghastly 

bag? 
WITCH  :  Simples  for  sorcery,  for  charms  and 

spells: 

Herbs,  roots  and  fungi,  gathered  in  the  moon. 
Here  's  snakeroot,  henbane,  and  dark  helle- 
bore; 
Mandrake,  that  shrieks  with  madness  when 

't  is  dug; 

And  here  is  blistering  ivy,  whose  mere  touch 
Cancers  the  flesh ;  and  here  the  crooked  root 
That  oozes  blood,  when  broken,  like  a  wound: 
Here  's   nightshade,    monkshood,    purple     as 

putrefaction, 

Or  as  a  drunkard's  lips  in  stertorous  sleep 
Breathing  contagion;  here  is  adder's  tongue 
Reeking  beside  it,  speckled  as  a  snake : 
And  spathes  of  arum;  fritillaria, 
Puffed,   streaked,    like  throats    of  vipers; — 

wolfsbane,  blue 

As  apoplexy:  tawny  toadflax,  too, 
Jaundiced  with  yellow  as  a  maid  that  pines 


112  THE    WITCH  sc.  I 

For  love   which   comes  not   and  will   never 

come. — 

Bulbs,  herbs  of  witchcraft,  powerful  of  charm, 
Potent  for  incantation  and  for  rites, 
Occult,  unholy  in  the  cause  of  Evil. 

[Bowing  low. 
EVIL:  Although  thy  list  is  long,  still  more 

thou  hast : 

Enough  to  summon  half  of  Hell  to  aid. — 
No  more   delay.     What!    wouldst  thou  still 

evade, 

Procrastinate,  postpone  what  should  be  now  ? — 
Away  with  this,  thy  fetich,  roots  and  herbs. — 
Consult  thy  magic,  and  inform  me  then 
Where  are  the  victims ;  why  thy  Fiends  delay. 
WITCH:  They  come  anon  I  say. — When  I 

have  mixed 

This  filth-sprung  toadstool  and  its  death's- 
head  cup, 

Th:s  devil's  snuff-box,  rotted  into  green 
And  venomous   dust;  this  fungus    from  an 

oak, 
On  which  a   man   was    hanged,    a  liverous 

brown, — 


sc.  i  THE    WITCH  113 

Gathered    within    the     moon's    eclipse    one 

night, — 

With  many  another  goblin  agaric 
And  fungoid  thing,  that  Earth  like   bubbles 

breathes 

And  forms  from  forest  offal  and  decay ; 
Excrescences  and  tumours  of  old  soil, 
Bloated,    exuding    forth,    pale-pulped    with 

poison : — 
When  these  have  simmered  thrice,  then  with 

this  stone, 
Ta'en  from  a  serpent's  head;  and  this  one, 

found 

Deep  in  a  toad's;  and  venom  from  this  vial, — 
A     viper's    fang, — dropped    in    the    central 

turmoil, 

Then  shalt  thou  read  in  the  precipitate  scum 
That  streaks  the  liquid  magic  (as  a  slug 
Trails  its  slow  slime  zig-zag  across  a  leaf's 
Decaying  green) — strange  words  and  charac- 
ters, 

The  wild  handwriting  of  the  Three  in  Hell, 
Who  rule  the  world  and  thee,    O    Lord    of 

Evil. 


114  THE    WITCH  sc.  i 

EVIL:  The  time  is  come  to  read:  the  oily 

lines 

Hiss  out  and  vanish :  slowly  there  uncoils 
A  serpent  symbol  or  druidic  sign, 
And  slowly  now  resolves  itself  in  vapour. — 
WITCH:  All,  all  is  troubled. 
EVIL:  Yea;  thou  canst  not 

read. — 
Mumble  thy  toothless  spells. — Thou  look'st  in 

vain. 
The    Three    reply    not,    or    thy    plans    are 

thwarted. 

WITCH  (to  her  Familiar) :  My  nimble  De- 
mon bring  me  fire ;  live  coals. 
Place  me  a  circle  here ;  and  in  the  circle 
The  Abracadabra  of  the  powerful  spell, 
Through   which   the   Spirits   of  the  Air  are 

summoned 
And   made  reveal   what   Earth  and   Heaven 

keep  hidden. 

Through  them  my  divinations  shall  be  cleared, 
And  I  shall  know   the   thing  that   I   would 

know, 
And  hear  through  airy  lips  report  of  that 


sc.  i  THE    WITCH  115 

Which    now  retards  and   gives  me    to   de- 
struction. 
APE  (after  drawing  ike  circle  and  cabala  as 

commanded) :  Mistress,  't  is  done. 
WITCH  :  Now  hand  me  here  my  wand ; 

And  stand  thou  there  and  finger  on  the  flame 
This  sorcerous  powder  of  imperious  scent. — 
Now,  Lord  of  Night  and  Evil,  we  must  wait. 
EVIL:  Wait!   wait! — too  long  now  have  I 

waited,  Witch! — 
Weave  thy  mad  spells,  and  summon  up  thy 

Spirits. 
The  hour  runs  out,  and  thy  vile  life  runs  with 

it. 

WITCH  (weaving  strange  figures  in  the  mist 
of  smoke  made  by  the  burning  powder  and 
muttering  to  herself  as  if  in  incantation) : 
I  weary  of  my  bondage,  service  to  thee, 
O  spirit  of  Darkness ! — Hatred  and  disgust 
Of  what  I  am  and  of  the  Works  of  Hell 
Have  taken  me  by  the  heart,  like  two  wild 

wolves, 

And  tear  me  horribly. — My  power  is  gone : 
Lost  in  the  one  desire  to  fail  in  this, 


Il6  THE    WITCH  sc.  I 

To  keep  those  Innocents  afar  from  here. — 
I  know  not  whence  it  came — but  come  it  is: 
And,  with  it,  all  the  old  desires,  that  rode, 
Galloping  to  headlong  Hell,  escape  me  now, 
As  one  short  year  ago  they  did :  deserters, 
Abandoning  the  ranks  of  Hate  for  Pity. 
EVIL    (regarding    her    suspiciously) :   What 

dost  thou  mumble,  Witch? — 'T  is  like  a 

prayer. — 

Wilt  thou  turn  priestess  now,  or  prophetess, 
Of  Good  or  Evil? — All  thy  arts  are  vain. — 
Why,  for  an  instant,  I  could  swear  I  felt 
The  presence  of  antagonistic  Good, 
Breathing  a  pure  breath  through  the  cloud  of 

sin. — 

Thy  spells  are  powerless,  and  avail  no  more. 
WITCH  (without  ceasing  to  wave  her  wand  in 

the  thickening  smoke) :  These  will  not  fail 

me.     Hear  them  where  they  come ! — 
Their  wild  wings  whip  the  heavens  into  storm, 
And  the  scared  moon  hurries  to  hide  her  face. 
[Thunder  and  a  noise  of  winds  outside  the 

hut,  whose  door  and  windows  seem  sup- 

ernaturally  shaken. 


SCENE  II 

A  deep  and  ancient  forest.  The  Fiends,  LOB 
and  HOB,  habited  as  mendicant  friars, 
discovered  in  a  moonlit  glade. 

LOB:     I  thought  I  felt  them  coming,  but 

it  seems 
I  was  misled. — Some  Power  's  at  work  here, 

other 
Than  that  we  represent.    They  should  have 

stood 

Transfixed,  through  magic,  in  this  ferny  glade. 
Now  we  have  searched  the   forest,  and   in 

vain. 

Something  at  moonrise  must  have  interfered. 
HOB  :    So  even  we,  it  seems,  can  be  misled  ? 
LOB:     'T  is  strange.     I  never  was  misled 
before. — 

Once  I  was  certain  they  were  near,  and  when 
117 


Il8  *'THE    WITCH  sc.  ii 

They  should  have  stood  there,  instant  to  our 

hands, 

The  dim  appearance  did  resolve  itself 
From  moonlight  into  mist. 

HOB  :  It  is  some  spell, 

More  potent  than  the  hag's,  that  wrys  our 

course. 
Her  witchcraft  should  have  bound  them  to 

this  spot 

Until  we  came  to  lead  them  there  to  her. 
Her   power   grows  less  of    late,   hast    thou 

observed  ? — 
Last  year  the  child  escaped  through  her;  the 

infant, 

Our  pains  had  wheedled  to  her  very  door. — 
What  if  it  be  that  she  repents  her  sins 
And  works  against  us  now  instead  of  with  us? 
HOB:     Then  woe  to  her,  say  I! — But  have 

no  fear: 

Repentance  is  as  far  from  that  lost  soul 
As  we  ourselves  from  Heaven. 

LOB  :  Where  to  seek ! — 

My  instinct  is  at  loss ;  and  revelation, 
That  never  failed  my  purpose  heretofore, 


sc.  II  THE    WITCH  119 

Refuses  now  to  indicate  a  way. 
HOB  :    Here  comes  a  limping  light,  an  ignis 

fatuus. 

LOB:   Let  us  accost  it.   Haply  it  can  tell. — 
Thridding  these  woods  't  is  certain  it  hath 

seen 
Those  whom  we  seek;  and,  being  in  league 

with  Evil, 

Will  lead  us  to  the  hollow  tree  or  cave 
Wherein  they  slumber. — Ho,  thou  wandering 

flame, 
Thou  Imp  of  Fire,  come  here!  thy  masters 

call. 

HOB  :    'T  is  vanished ;  ay,  gone  like  a  candle- 
flicker. — 
Some  power  puffed  it  out. — No;  thou 'rt  to 

blame ! 
Calling  it  Imp.    Thou  should'st  have  spoke 

it  softly. 
LOB:     Sensitive  as  it   is   fickle,  eh? — But 

see ! — 
Dolt    that     thou    art,    no    Jack-o '-Lantern 

't  was, 
But  rushlight  in  a  cabin,  which  the  boughs, 


120  THE    WITCH  sc.  n 

Wind-waved,  concealed  a  moment. — There  it 
shines, 

In  yon  direction  — And  I  now  remember, 

A  Woodcutter  dwells  ne?  r ;  his  window-light 

We  now  behold. 

HOB  :  No  mortal  flame  was  that. 

I  know  a  will-o'-the-wisp ;  I  've  seen  too  many, 

Dotting  with  fire  the  pastures  of  the  dead. — 

'T  is  gone  again,  thou  seest.     No  rushlight 
that. 

It  turns  again,  and  comes,  fantastically, 

In  our  direction. 

LOB  :  Scissors  of  a  fiend ! 

Lank  legs  and  arms!   thou  art   grown  dull 
indeed, 

Who   should  be   sharp  to  cut  the   tangled 
knot 

Of  thy  bewilderment ! — Hast  thou  ever  heard 

That  wisps  had   feet  that    any  one    could 
hear  ? — 

Thy  light  hath  boots  on.     Tell  me  who  ap- 
proaches 

Dangling  a  lanthorn  there? 

HOB:  Bladder-head  and  block! 


sc.  II  THE    WITCH  121 

Thou  squat,  tub-bellied  fool,  whose  brains  are 

fat 

And  all  whose  thoughts  run  grease,  a  Wood- 
cutter, 
As  thou  should 'st  know  if  fat  would  let  thee 

see. 
LOB  :     Hard  thinking  makes  thee  lean,  fork 

of  a  fiend ! 

But  't  is  a  Woodcutter;  and  since  't  is  so 
Put  on  the  Priest  and  doff  the  Demon,  fool. 
He  may  have  seen  our  prey,  the  chicks  we 

seek: 

Haply  may  house  them,  even,  in  his  hut. 
[Enter  a  WOODCUTTER  with  axe  and  lanthorn. 
WOODCUTTER:     Methought  I  heard  a  call- 
ing here.     And  then 
Fierce  voices  wrangling,   so   I   brought  my 

axe, — 

For  fear  of  ruffians, — and  a  light  to  guide. 
Sounds,  ay,  that  struck  confusion  in  the  trees 
And  set  their  boughs  a-panic. — Ho!  hello! 

[Catching  sight  of  the  FRIARS. 
God  keep  you,  fathers. 

LOB  (wincing) :  We  11  dispense  with  God.— 


122  THE    WITCH  SC.  II 

My  good  man,  tell   us,  hast  thou  seen  two 

children, 

Two  little  birdlings  out  of  the  same  nest, 
A  boy  and  girl,  blue-eyed  and  sunny-haired, 
Wandering  among  these  sombre  woods  to- 
night ? — 

They  went  astray,  I  think,  at  fall  of  dusk, 
From  the  near  village  where  the  Bellman  cried 
And  O  Yesed  them  by  name  some  hours  ago. 
We  joined  the  general  search ; — their  guard- 
ians we, 
Old  friends  of  both  their  parents, — heavenly 

folk!— 
[Hypocritically  clasping    his    hands  and 

casting  his  eyes  upward. 
And  priests,  who  have  all  innocence  in  care. 
Our  inquiries  have  led  us  to  these  woods 
Where  an  old  beldam  (with  a  significant  look  at 
his  companion)  told  us  she  had  seen 
them. 

WOODCUTTER  (scratching  his  head  as  if  per- 
plexed) : 

Two  such  I  saw ;  but  with  them  was  a  woman ; 
A  tall,  bright  damsel  in  a  homespun  gown, 


SC.  II  THE    WITCH  123 

With  whom  they  walked  unconscious  of  my 

presence, 

Absorbed  upon  her  face  and  discourse :  haply 
Some  fairytale  she  spake  them,  leading  home. 
The  moonbeams  lit  their  way;  I  heard  their 

chatter 

Make  glad  the  bosky  by-paths  of  the  woods, 
Like   two   sweet   crickets  chirping  round   a 

flower. — 

This  way  they  went,  ay,  down  this  very  path. 
HOB:  Who  could  she  be? — The  babes  are 

ours ! — 'T  is  surely 
Some  wench,  some  forester's  daughter  who 

hath  found 

And  shelters  them  beneath  her  thatch  of  straw. 
LOB:     If  so,  this  good  man  here,  no  doubt, 

can  tell  us, 

And  will  direct  us  to  her  dwelling-place. 
WOODCUTTER:  Mine  is  the  only  hut  in  all 

these  woods 

For  many  miles  around.     I  know  her  not; 
But  I  've  a  mind  to  know  her  if  I  may. 
HOB:    Thou    should'st    have    spoken  her 
whenas  she  passed. — 


124  THE    WITCH 


sc.  ii 


WOODCUTTER:  Her  beauty  so  usurped  my 

sense  of  seeing 
No  other  sense  had  I. 

HOB    (with   sinister  laughter,    half   aside) : 

The  dolt's  in  love! 
Come;    we   must   search   them   out.       What 

profits  it 

To  wait  on  supposition  and  suggestion? 
They  lead  to  naught.    Midnight  is  almost  past. 
The  sands  of  our  agreement  run  apace. 

LOB  :  True. — We  must  on. — This  is  the  path, 

my  man, 
Thou  saw'st  them  take  ? — Then  we  will  follow 

it. 
WOODCUTTER:     This  path,   good  fathers; 

but  an  hour  agone. 

'T  is  a  straight  path  and  leads  into  a  dell. — 
Would 'st  have   my    lanthorn  to  make  light 

your  way? 

LOB:     Nay,  nay;  we  need  no  light.     But 
thou  wilt  need. 

[With  a  significant  smile. 
Our  eyes  are  used  to  seeing  in  the  dark. 
Our  habitation  hath  few  windows  in  it. 


sc.  II  THE    WITCH  125 

WOODCUTTER:     And  may  I  ask,  what  man- 
ner of  Friars  are  you? 

HOB:     Why,  we  are  of  that  ancient  Broth- 
erhood,— 
The    largest   in    the   world,    and   eke    most 

famous, — 

The  Brotherhood  of  Erebus;  that  is 
Beelzebub,  to  speak  correctly;  close 
Affiliated  and  related  with 
The  good  Franciscans  and  Dominicans. 

WOODCUTTER:  'T  is  a  great  satisfaction  and 

a  privilege 
To   speak  with   fathers   of    your   honorable 

standing. 
LOB  (with  a  sanctimonious  leer) :  It  is  indeed. 

Thou  comprehendest  little 
Of  what   it   means  to   thee, — thy  heavenly 

chances. — 
After  to-night  we  will  be  closer  friends. 

WOODCUTTER  (profoundly  impressed)  :  Noth- 
ing would  suit  me  better.    Come  to  me. 
My  cabin  's  open  always  to  your  worships. 
And  if  you  find  your  charge  to-night,  or  find 
not, 


126  ;•    THE    WITCH  sc.  ir 

Remember  that  I  keep  a  light  for  you, 

And  a  good  meal,  and  bed  for  both  to  lie 

in. 
HOB:     We  '11  not  forget. — But  night  drives 

on  apace. 
We  must  resume    our   search   and   find  our 

charge. 
WOODCUTTER:  Yon  is  the  way — downward 

into  the  dell. 
LOB  :     That  sounds  familiar — like  the  path 

to — what  ? 

WOODCUTTER  (laughing  foolishly  and  shud- 
dering away) :  You  spoke  that  strangely. 
I  grow  cold  and  hot. — 
Fathers,  good  night ;  and  may  your  search  end 

well.- 

The     path     you     mentioned     darker    is     I 
wot.  .  .  . 

[Exit  WOODCUTTER  muttering  to  himself. 
HOB     (scowling  after  him) :   Dark  as  thy 

fool's  mind. — Well,  let  us  get  on. 
LOB  :     Listen ;  I  hear  a  footstep. 
HOB:  I,  a  voice. 

A  VOICE     (very  near  and  approaching  from 


sc.  II  THE    WITCH  I2/ 

ike  dell)\  Look,  my  beloved,  how  the 

wild-flowers  stand, 
Tiptoe  as  if  in  expectation  here 
Of  your  sweet  passing;  gazing  all  they  can 
At  your  fair  faces  and  your  starlike  eyes. 
The   moonlight  has  aroused  them  with   its 

touch, 

And  each  seems  eager  to  explain  itself, 
The  poetry  of  its  being  beautiful, 
The  inner  secret  of  its  happiness 
And  absolute  purity. — My  little  ones, 
Know  that  the  flowers  are  the  dear  concern 
Of  the  good  Faeries  that  I  told  you  of 
An  hour  agone  when  seeking  out  this  dell. 
As  evidence,  behold  this  hammock  swung, 
A  gossamer  web,  between  these  briony  stalks 
That  speaks  an  Elf's  possession. — There  's  a 

blossom, 

To  please  a  Faery's  fancy,  hangs  a  jewel, 
A  dew-drop,  in  her  cowslip  ear.     My!  my! 
The  vanity  of  these  flowers ! — And  look  there — 
The  carcanet  of  rain-pearls  this  wild  rose 
Hath  laced  her  throat  with,  like  a  very  queen, 
To  captivate  some  butterfly-winged  Fay. — 


128  /•   THE    WITCH  sc.  II 

[A  YOUNG  WOMAN  appears  at  the  entrance 
to  the  dell,  a  little  boy  and  girl  on  either 
side  of  her.  She  is  very  tall  and  very 
beautiful,  but  poorly,  almost  menially 
clad.  She  suddenly  stops;  then  con- 
tinues with  a  defensive  gesture  and  an 
expression  of  unutterable  loathing: 

But  what  pollutes  the  air  and  vitiates, 

Charging  its  purity  with  pestilence, 

As  a  clear  cup  with  poison? — What  are  they? 

Those    night-cowled   shapes? — The    sons   of 
darkness ! — Fiends, 

Vested  as  is  Religion,  Holiness! — 

Through   whose    habiliments    my    eyes    can 
pierce 

And  see  their  blackened  bodies  flicker  with 
scars, 

Branded  in  flame,  the  stigma -marks  of  Hell. — 

Evil,  what   would  you  here? — Bar  not  my 

way ! — 

LOB:      Is  that    a    threat?    or    merely    a 
request? — 

She  seems  an  angel  walking  with  two  cherubs. 
HOB  :  Angel  or  mortal,  she  must  yield  to  us. 


sc.  II  THE    WITCH  129 

LOB:   Ay! — So  we  've  found  our  little  loves 

at  last. 

[As  HOB  and  LOB  speak  they  approach  with 
blandishing  smiles  the  children  and  their 
protectress,  who  encircles  the  shoulders  of 
the  boy  and  girl  with  her  arms. 

THE  BOY:     Sister,  who  are  those  men? — 

Are  they  the  priests 
Who  prayed  for  father  and  mother  when  they 

died?— 
Why  did  you  speak  so  roughly? — Are  they  bad? 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :    Yes,  they  are  evil  men. 
— But  do  not  fear. 

THE  GIRL:  How  wild  they  look. — Sister,  I 
am  afraid. 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :    Fear  not.     They  can  not 

harm  you.  I  am  here. 
[During  the  conversation  the  Yo UN G  Wo M  A N 
has  never  removed  her  eyes  from  the  faces 
of  the  FIENDS,  who  approach  her  and  the 
children  with  conciliatory  looks  and  ges- 
tures. During  the  dialogue  that  follows, 
the  WOMAN  keeps  her  gaze  steadily 
fastened  on  the  eyes  of  LOB  and  HOB. 


130  THE    WITCH  sc.  n 

THE   GIRL:     I  am  afraid. — See  how  their 

eyeballs  shine ! 
THE    BOY:       Drive    them    away.      Their 

mouths  are  like  red  wounds, 
And  when  they  smile  their  long  teeth  frighten 

me. 
LOB  :   Be  not  afraid. — We  are  your  friends, 

sweet  lambs. 
HOB:     Your    guardians    and    protectors, 

whom  the  Church 
And    Court    appointed    since    your    parents 

died.— 
Poor,  orphan  babes,  will  you  not  come  with 

us? 
LOB  :     Come ;  we  will  take  you  to  a  lovely 

home, 
Where  you  can  have  the  prettiest  clothes  to 

wear. 
HOB  :     And  dainty  things  to  eat :  and  many 

toys: 

And  everything  that   childhood's  heart  de- 
sires. 

THE  GIRL:  Nice  things  to  wear?  and  dainty 
things  to  eat? 


sc.  ii  THE    WITCH  I  3  I 

LOB:     Ay,  little  one,  things  that  all  girls 

adore. 
THE  BOY:    And  toys  and  storybooks  and 

— everything  ? 
HOB  :     Ay,  little  one,  all  that  a  boy  holds 

dear. 
THE   GIRL:     But   you  must  let  our  sister 

come  with  us; 

Our  big,  new  sister,  who  's  so  beautiful. 
We  could  not  part  with  her  now. — Could  we, 

brother? 
THE  BOY:     Oh,  no!  Our  sister  here   must 

come  with  us. 

[The  YOUNG  WOMAN  smiles  down  upon  the 

two  children  for  an  instant,  and  then 

raises  her  eyes  to  the  eyes  of  the  FIENDS 

again  and  speaks  with  authority. 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :     No ;  you  shall  never  leave 

me;  never!  never! — 

God  sent  me  here  and  gave  you  in  my  charge. 
These  can  not  have  you. — Get  ye  behind  me, 

Evil! 

HOB    (malignantly,  still  endeavouring  hard 
to  conceal  the  FIEND  under  the  hood  of  the 


132  THE   WITCH  sc.  n 

FRIAR)  :  God  or  the  Devil,  all  is  one  to 

us! 

The  babes  are  ours.     Render  them  up  to  us, 
Or  fear  our  wrath.     We  are  two  stalwart  men. 
LOB  (sinisterly,  with  suggestive  leers) :  Why, 

let  her  come  with  us.     We  '11  warrant 

her 

Such  entertainment  as  no  maid  before 
Hath  ever  had. —  'T  is  a  fine  company 
We  '11  make  thee  gossip  to,  my  buxom  wench, 
Such  fellows  as  ourselves,  such  pleasant  Friars, 
And  young  Nuns  too,  whose  blood  is  full  of 

flame. — 
We  '11  warm  thy  veins  with  something  better 

than  talk; 

Thy  body  too,  which  is,  I  '11  swear,  snow-cold, 
Judging  by  that  ice-look  within  thy  eyes. 
THE  GIRL:    Will  you  come  with  us,  sister? 

— Will  you  come? 
THE  BOY:     Say  you  will  come  with  us  and 

these  good  priests. 

You,  too,  will  have  nice  things  to  eat  and  wear. 
YOUNG  WOMAN:      And  are  you  tempted, 

sweethearts  ? — Listen,  dears, 


sc.  ii  THE    WITCH  133 

My  Innocents,  that  see  but  your  desires 
For  those  material  blessings,  as  you  think, 
That  in  the  end  turn  curses,  pass  away : 
Believe  me,  these  dark  beings  here  that  tempt 

you, 

Your  untried  souls  with  gewgaws,  would  be- 
tray 

Your  tenderness  to  torture,  infamy, 
And  something  diabolic. — You  are  mine ; 
And  mine  you  shall  remain  while  God  permits. 
HOB     (fiercely  with  flashing  eyes) :     Out  of 

our  way,  thou  Woman! — Out!  I  say! 
Else  we  will  blast  thee  with  the    curse   of 

curses. 

LOB  (with  a  threatening  gesture) :  And  rend 
thee  limb   from   limb    and    burn  to 
ashes! — 
Out   of   our  way!      It   is  the   Church   that 

speaks ! 

YOUNG  WOMAN      (gradually  towering  and 
glowing  with  supernatural  glory) :  Thou 
blasphemy! — This  only  was  required, 
This  arrogance  and  masquerade  of  virtue 
Most  sacerdotal. — Know  that  I  have  power 


134  THE    WITCH  sc.  ii 

To  damn  you  utterly,  o'erwhelm  with  tort- 
ures.— 
These   souls   are   mine! — Lay  but   a    finger 

on 

Their  innocent  bodies  and  God's  thunderbolts, 
That  wait  my  word,  the  winge'd  hounds  of 

Heaven, 
Shall  hunt  you  to  the  fires  from  which  you 

sprang. 
LOB:     Who  and  what  art  thou  with  thy 

vaunt  of  God  ? 
HOB  :     Some  wild  girl,  whom  religion  hath 

made  mad. — 

But  we  are  tired  of  folly. — Stand  aside. 
Unarm  the  children — 

LOB  :  Or  prepare  to  perish. 

[The  WOMAN  gradually  becomes  trans- 
figured and  glorified:  her  wretched  rai- 
ment emits  a  silvery  effulgence,  burning 
into  flowing  white,  and  her  form  and 
features  demonstrate  her  to  be  one  of 
the  elect  of  Heaven,  the  SPIRIT  OF  GOOD. 
SPIRIT:  These  two  are  mine!  my  own 
particular  charge. — 


sc.  II  THE    WITCH  135 

Avaunt,   you   Demons! — God    but    waits    a 

sign ! — 

The  bright  destruction  of  His  look,  that  blasts, 

Lightens  through  space  at  lifting  of  this  hand, 

And  plunges  you  in  torment. — Hence !  Away ! 

[The  SPIRIT   lifts  her  hand:  a  flash  of 

lightning  and  thunder  follow.     The  two 

FIENDS  shrink  cringing  away,  covering 

their  dazzled  eyes  with  their  arms. 


SCENE  III 

Interior  of  the  WITCH'S  hut  as  in  Scene  I. 
WITCH,  SPIRIT  OF  EVIL,  APE,  IMPS  as 
before. 

EVIL:   What  wilt  thou  stay  perdition  with, 

thou  Witch? — 
What  hast  thou  in  reserve  now? — What  to 

plead? 

Present  thy  case,  and  advocate  thy  cause. — 
Judgment  is  passed. — Again  thy  mantic  art 
Hath  failed  thy  spells.— The  Sylphids  of  the 

air, 

The  Spirits  of  the  elements,  whose  forms 
And  countenances  are  wild  wind  and  cloud, 
Murmured  and  brightened  but  a    moment 

there, 

Then  swept  away  in  tumult,  streaming  by, 
Scorning  thy    summons. — 'T  is  the  hour. — 

Behold, 

136 


sc.  ill  THE    WITCH  137 

All,  all  have  failed  thee. — Thou  hast  forfeited 
Thy  soul  to  me  and  unabolished  Hell. 
WITCH  ( frantically) :   Not  yet !  not  yet ! — 

Some  minutes  still  are  left. — 
Is  it  not  so,  good  Cock? 

Cock :  Kik — kik — erakee ! — 

One  minute  is  still  left  thee,  thou  old  Witch. 
WITCH  (eagerly) :  Thou  hearest  his  report ! — 

One  minute  's  mine. — 
Ere  that  last  minute  pass  they  will  be  here, 
My  two  sure  minions  with  the  price  I  promised. 
EVIL:     That   speech  took  thirty  seconds; 

thirty  more, 
And  thou  and  this  shall  have  an  end. 

WITCH:  I  hear — 

I  feel  some  one  approaching. — It  is  they! — 
APE  (listening  at  the  door) :     I  hear  a  whis- 
pering as  of  two  who  fear. — 
Shall  I  unbolt  the  door? 
WITCH  (to  the  SPIRIT  OF  EVIL)  :  What  dost 

thou  say? 

He !  he ! — thou  seest,  my  Master,  I  was  right. 
My   slaves  are   come,    and   with    them   thy 
desire. — 


138  THE    WITCH  SC.  Ill 

Unbolt  the  door,  old  Demon;  let  them  in. 

[Aside. 
Down  in  my  heart  I  hope  that  they  have 

failed. 
EVIL:     Ay,  let  them  in;  what  sort  of  fiends 

are  these, 

That  stop  outside  and  fear  a  Witch's  hut? 
If  they  have  found  the  flowers  thou  sent'st 

them  for, 

Bid  them  come  in  and  lay  them  at  my  feet. 
APE  (unbolting  and  peering  through  a  crack 
of  the  door) :     They  crouch  outside  and 
seem  o'erwhelmed  with  fear, 
Muttering  and  dazed  as  if  with  some  bright 

wonder. 

Now  they  run  hitherward  as  if  pursued 
Of  something  still  invisible,  but  strong, 
Beyond  the  power  we  know,  and  full  of  awe. 
EVIL   (triumphantly  to   the  WITCH):  That 
speaks  not  for  success ! — Ay,  thou  hast 
lost. 

[To  the  DEMON: 

Thou  seest  no  children  with   them,  slave? — 
Speak  out. 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  139 

APE  :   Nothing  I  see  but  moonlight  and  the 

Fiends, 

Who  race  like  shadows  of  two  ragged  trees, 
Wind-driven,  from  the  forest  to  the  door. 
WITCH  (with  pretended  fury) :  Well  may  they 

fear  if  they  have  failed  me  now. 
[She  limps  to  the  door  and  flings  it  wide. 
The  two  Fiends,  LOB  and  HOB,  rush  in, 
ragged  and  wild  of  look  and  gesture. 
EVIL  (laughing  sardonically) :   Success  at- 
tends not  on  such  looks  as  theirs. 
Their    fearsome    gestures,    too,    confess    to 

failure. 
LOB  (falling  on  his  knees  before  the  SPIRIT  OF 

EVIL)  : 

An  Angel  has  the  little  ones  in  charge ! — 
Protect  us  from  the  lightning  of  her  look ! 
HOB  (on  the  heels  of  LOB  and  grovelling  to 

the  floor) : 

Lord  of  the  deeps  of  Hell,  an  Angel  follows, 
Driving    us    on    with    lightning    and    with 

thunder. — 

The   glory   of  her    countenance    none    may 
brave ! — 


140  '   THE    WITCH  sc.  in 

WITCH  (with  eager,  wild  looks,  threatening 

*fo?  FIENDS  with  her  staff) :  Angels? — You 

Demons ! — Angels  keep  to  Heaven 
While  Devils  walk  the  Earth ! — An  Angel,  say 

you? — 

An  Angel ! — Then,  by  all  the  hope  I  've  lost ! 
Ye  shall  go  back  and  fetch  her !  bring  her  here, 
Her  and  her  charge. — Yea,  I  would  see  this 

Angel! 
EVIL  (laughing  derisively):  Ho!  ho! — How 

well  she  braves  it  to  the  end ! — 
My  lads,  my  Lob  and  Hob,  shall  have  good 

sport, 
Shall  have  their  turn  with  thee  now ! — Drop 

thy  staff!— 

The  farce  is  ended ;  tragedy  begins. — 
Look  not  so  darkly,  Demons !  naught 's  to  fear : 
Angel  nor  Witch,  ho!  ho! — Immortal  tortures 
You  have  endured,  and  these  ye  shall  bestow 
In  turn   on   her. — Look  where   she   grovels 

now! — 

Hast  thou  a  new  excuse,  eh,  to  delay? 
Or  any  lie  to  save  thee  from  these  claws  ? 
WITCH   (whining  and  creeping  to  his  feet) : 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  141 

Master,    have     mercy! — Oh,     have     mercy, 

Master! 
Lord  of  the  Courts  of  Night,  have  mercy  on 

me! 
EVIL   (fiercely):   Mercy?— Are  Devils  ever 

merciful  ? 

Mercy  is  not  an  attribute  of  Hell. — 
Seize  her! 

[Los  and  HOB  -fling  themselves  exultantly 

upon    ike    WITCH,    who  screams    and 

struggles. 
WITCH:     Where  are  my  Imps? — Hither  to 

me! — 
And,   Demon,   thou! — I    still   can   punish — 

torture ! — 
Help,  help  me  now! 

EVIL  :  Their  service  hath  an 

end. 

And  they  revert  to  me  through  forfeiture 
Of  thy  black  bond,  in  which  thou  now  hast 

failed. 
My  slaves  are  they,  not  thine,  and  served  me 

here 
In  serving  thee.     Evil  returns  to  Evil. 


142  THE    WITCH  SC.  m 

APE:     I   am  thy  slave;  command  me  as 

thou  wilt. 
Glad  am  I,  too,  my  service  here  is  ended. 

[The  APE  crouches  on  the  hearth;  the  COCK 
and  OWL  flutter  wildly  about  the  smoky 
rafters,  crowing  and  hooting,  while  the 
CAT  mews,  glaring  from  a  corner  at  the 
ARCH  FIEND  who  dominates  the  scene. 
LOB  :     Tear  out  her  eyes ! 
HOB:  Her  nails  are 

sharp   as  knives. 
LOB  :     I  have  her  by  the  hair.     Now  bind 

her  arms. 
HOB:     Soh.— They  are  bound.— She  spat 

upon  me  now, 
And  where  the  spittle  struck  spring  ulcerous 

wounds. 
LOB:    Thou   poisonous  hag! — Thrust  live 

coals  in  her  mouth. 
EVIL:    Enough!    Let  be !— Mine  is  she  now 

to  torture. — 
What  hope   is  left  thee   now,   woman  and 

witch  ? 
If  ever  a  hope  found  shelter  in  thy  vileness. 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  143 

WITCH:     I  am  not    utterly  evil. — In   my 

heart, — 

Scoff  not,  for  still  I  know  I  have  a  heart ! — 
Though  frail  of  flame  and  sunken  deep  in  ashes 
Of  sin  and  horror,  one  dim  ember  burns, 
Thy   pow'r   could   not   extinguish  all   these 

years, — 

The  love  of  Innocence ;  an  unquenched  passion 
For  that  which  /  was  not,  and  never  could  be ; 
The  little  remnant  of  a  soul  still  left  me. — 
Grant  it  one  wish,  one  boon  before  all  ends. 
EVIL:    This  remnant  of  thy  soul  I  too  shall 

have 

In  the  large  reckoning  that  is  my  due. 
Before  I  grant  that  mite  of  good  a  wish, 
If  it  be  mine  to  grant,  all  will  be  mine 
WITCH:    That  part  of  me,  my  soul,  which 

I  concealed 
From  thee  and  from  myself,  that  never  was 

thine, 

Can  not  be  thine  now. — Listen  to  me  now : 
A  prisoner  of  Darkness,  gaoled  within 
This  House  of  Sin  custodianed  of  Evil, 
Pity,  the  sorrowful  child  of  Love,  hath  lain 


144  THE    WITCH  sc.m 

For  many  years,  forgotten,  unconfessed 
Even  of  my  own  heart,  beheld  of  none. 
Often  it  raised  its  weary  head  and  sighed 
At  the  dark  deeds  that  Evil  in  me  did. — 
Now  it  stands  up,  its  fetters  broken,  free 
In  bright  revolt  against  thee  and  thy  host 
Ready  to  lead  rebellion  into  Hell. 

EVIL  (with  a  sneer):     And  it  can  ask  for 

favours  still  of  Evil, 

When  it  is  strong  and  free  ? — Why,  let  us  hear 
The  wish  thou  'dst  have  Perdition  grant  thee 

now. 

I  am  most  curious — haply  't  is  my  love. 
WITCH:     This  is  my  wish!     One  minute 

here  to  pray! 

Grant  me  but  time  wherein  to  say  one  prayer. 
EVIL  (violently,  spurning  her) :  Pray  would 'st 

thou  ? — Thou  hast  cursed  God  now,  how 

long? — 

Thou  hast  forgotten,  eh  ? — And  dost  thou  hope 
That  He  will  hear  thee  ?  grant  thee  absolution? 
Long  since  thy  crimes  estranged  thy  soul  and 

Heaven, 
And  He  abandoned  thee  to  me  and  mine. 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  145 

WITCH:     Yet  let  me  pray;  one  prayer  be- 
fore I  go. — 

Then  do  with  this,  my  soul,  whate'er  thou 

wilt. 
EVIL:     O  dedicate  to  devils,  thou  art  lost. 

No  power  of  prayer  could  save  thee  now. — 
Hell,  too, 

Hath  certain  rights  as  well  as  Heaven,   ad- 
mitted 

Of  Him  who  made  both   Good   and  Evil. — 
Come! 

The  compact  stands.     And  many  years  ago 

Thy  soul  was  signed  me  for  eternity. 

WITCH:       Not    so!    not    so! — Look!    who 
stands  in  the  door! — 

God   heard   my  cry. — No   fiend  of  thine   is 
that. 

But  an  immortal  of  the  heavenly  choir. 

[The  SPIRIT  OF  GOOD,  transfigured  as  when 
it  appeared  to  the  two  FIENDS  in  the 
forest,  shines  in  the  doorway  of  the  hut. 
A  light  as  of  resplendent  swords  seems 
to  emanate  from  its  form,  that  raises  a 
commanding  arm. 


146  THE    WITCH  sc.  in 

SPIRIT:     She  hath  repented;   therefore  she 

is  saved. 

EVIL  (with  indignant  vehemence,  and  aston- 
ishment) :  Incredible !— The  fear  of  Hell, 
damnation, 
That  forced  her  to  cry  out,   they  count  for 

naught 

In  the  economy  of  His  redemption. — What ! 
And  would  He  rob  me  of  a  thing  so  vile  ? 
SPIRIT   (with  lofty  calm) :     None  is  so  vile 

but  that  God's  blood  can  cleanse. 
Back  to  your  penal  fires!  this  soul  is  mine! 
[The  SPIRIT  OF  EVIL  and  his  emissaries 
start  back  recognising  the  authority  of 
SUPREMITY  invested  in   the   messenger 
before  them.    The  WITCH  is  left  standing 
alone  gazing  wonderingly  at  the  presence 
before  her. 
WITCH  :     Could  God  have  heard  me,  sunken 

so  in  sin? 
EVIL   (sullenly):     Beyond   belief  it  is,  yet 

she  is  here. 

SPIRIT  (to  the  WITCH)  :     Pity  of  Innocence, 
the  child  of  Love, 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  147 

Sin  never  slew  in  thee,  redeems  thee  now. — 
The  yearning  in  thy  heart  called  out.     God 

heard, 

And  sent  His  minister  to  comfort,  claim. 
WITCH  :     A  wretch  like  me  ?  sunken  so  deep 

in  evil  ? 
SPIRIT:    Yea,  even  such  as  thou,  in  whom 

belief 

Still  keeps  a  spark  alive  amid  the  ashes 
Of  dark  defeat  heaped  on  thy  heart's  black 

hearth. — 
Thy  wish  to  pray  was  prayer.     God  heard 

that  wish, 
And   answers  it   through    me. — A   mite    of 

good 

Within  a  soul  outweighs  a  ton  of  evil. — 
God  never  overlooks  one  soul  that  prays, 
Or  asks  to  pray,  though  utterance  be  denied. — 
Faith  never  dies  in  any  heart, — not  utterly, — 
Albeit  Sin  attempts,  in  many  ways, 
To  quench,  abolish,  and  exclaims,  'T  is  gone ! 
Still,  at  the  last,  it  demonstrates  itself, 
In  unanticipated  time,  the  hour  supreme, 
Disproving  all  the  arguments  of  Hell. — 


148  THE    WITCH  SC.  in 

Through  faith, — thou  hadst  denied, — love, — 

long  forgotten, — 
Thou  hast  attained  to  thy  deliverance. 

WITCH  (sinking  upon  her  knees) :     An  Angel 

speaks. 

SPIRIT:  One  of  God's  messengers. 

EVIL:     Yet,  in  the  end,  Evil   will   win,  I 

know. 
SPIRIT:    Thou  knowest  naught:  only  what 

God  permits. 
EVIL    (with  scorn):    For    His    own   good, 

perhaps,  was  I  ordained. 
SPIRIT:      Yea,  thou   hast   said   it: — Even 

through  thee,  all  Evil, 
Is  Good  evolved,  perfecting  His  designs. 
EVIL    (pointing    to   the    kneeling   WITCH): 
And  yet  he  robs  me! — Wouldst  thou 
name  this  justice  ? 
SPIRIT:     Whate'er  God  doeth,  it  is  justly 

done. 

His  deeds  demand  no  justification. — Lo! 
I  act,  obey;  I  am  not  here  to  argue — 
Take  thou  her  body,   wrecked  house  of  her 
soul; 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  149 

Do  with  it  what  thou  pleasest;  it  is  thine, 
As  it  hath  been  for  years;  her  soul  is  mine. 
EVIL     (violently)'.     But  't  is  her  soul  that 

I  would  have  to  torture 

Through  endless  time ; — her  soul !  allotted  me ! 
SPIRIT:     Her  soul  is  God's,  as  are  the  souls 

of  all, 
Evil  or  good,  that  emanate  from  Him. 

EVIL     (turning  with  suppressed  -fury  to  the 

WITCH)  : 

Woman,  thou  heardest  all  that  this  one  said. — 
Thy  mortal  part  is   mine:   thus   much   He 

grants. — 

It  may  I  tear  and  torture. — Seize  her,  Fiends. 

[The  WITCH  suddenly  collapses  as    LOB, 

HOB  and  the  APE  approach  to  seize  her. 

SPIRIT  :     The  soul  that  once  inhabited  there 

is  gone 
To  its  far  purification,  rehabilitation. 

[The  SPIRIT  OF  GOOD  vanishes  having  the 

FIENDS    staring    questioningly  at   the 

SPIRIT  OF  EVIL  who  looms  infuriated. 

EVIL:    Thwarted  again! — Damned  as  she 

was,  committed 


150  '    THE    WITCH  sc.  in 

To  every  sin  Earth  knows,  she  hath  escaped — 
Even  the  physical  torture,  which  must  reach 
The  soul,  that  shrinks  within  from  that  re- 
finement 

Of  flame  which  sears  the  quivering  flesh  and 
bone.  [With  sarcasm. 

Ho!  ho! — If  this  be  all  His  justice,  then 
I  too  may  hope  to  rise,  eventually, 
To  the  great  dignity  of  being  forgiven; 
And  so  invested  with  authority, 
Sit  on  His  left  hand,  honoured  as  His  Son. 
[Turning  furiously  upon  the   IMPS   and 
FIENDS  who  stand  sullenly  and  furtively 
regarding  him. 
Fling  down  that  carrion.      Let  her  carcass 

burn. 

Let  fire  have  its  way. — Strew  it  around. — 
To  work. — Bring  fire. — Let  it  rage  and  roar. — 
Sow  its  red  seeds  about,  and  let  them  spring 
And  blossom  crimson  to  the  crimson  moon. 
[The  hut  flames  up:  the  FIENDS  busy  them- 
selves here  and  there.     In  the  midst  of 
all  the  SPIRIT  OF  EVIL  towers  with  baffled 
but  imposing  majesty. 


sc.  in  THE    WITCH  151 

Hear  me,  thou  Power,  whom  the  World  names 

God! 

By  whom  my  plans  for  evermore  are  thwarted : 
I  bide  my  time.  When  it  shall  come  to  compt, 
Beware  of  me,  thou  and  thy  Angel  cohorts! 


CABESTAING 

A  TRAGEDY 


153 


"  Cabestaing's  adventures  and  extraordinary  end 
are  confirmed  by  several  authorities,  not  only  in 
ancient  printed  works,  but  likewise  in  manuscripts, 
and  we  therefore  with  greater  confidence  put  forward 
a  story  which  has  not  a  parallel  that  we  know  of  in 
history  or  fiction  since  the  times  of  Thyestes.  " 
ROWBOTHAM'S  "  Troubadours  and  Courts  of  Love." 


J55 


PERSONS  IN  THE  PLAY 

GUILLAUME  DE  CABESTAING,  A  TROUBADOUR. 

RAYMOND,  SEIGNEUR  OF  CASTEL-ROUSSILLON. 

MARGHERITA,  WIFE  OF  RAYMOND. 

ROBERT  OF  TARASCON. 

AGNES,   SISTER   OF    MARGHERITA    AND   WIFE    OF 

ROBERT. 
AUBERT,        ) 

MALAMORT,  >  CHEVALIERS  OF  CASTEL-ROUSSILLON. 
GIRAUD,        ) 

ERMENGARD,  ) 

[  LADIES  OF  CASTEL-ROUSSILLON. 
BEATRIX,        j 

A  PAGE 

Ladies,  chevaliers,  pages,  falconers,  attendants,  etc. 

Scene  is  laid  at  Castel-Roussillon  in  the  seigneury 
of  Roussillon,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Pyrenees, 
towards  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century.  The  action  of 
the  Play  is  supposed  to  occupy  about  twenty-four  hours. 


156 


CABESTAING 
ACT  I 
SCENE  i 

Late  afternoon  deepening  gradually  into  dusk. 
A  walled  and  terraced  garden  of  Castel- 
Roussillon,  with  statues,  a  fountain t  a  dial, 
urns,  and  marble-benches.  Enter  AUBERT, 
M  ALAMORT  an  d  GIRAUD  returnedfromhawk- 
ing:  attendants,  carrying  hawks,  hooded, 
belled  and  brailed  upon  their  wrists,  enter 
with  them  and  pass  out  of  the  garden  through 
a  Gothic  gate  to  the  right.  A  stair,  centre, 
stone-urned  and  balustraded,  leads  to  another 
entrance,  more  imposing,  towards  which  the 
chevaliers  advance. 

MALAMORT:    A  fair  day's  hawking,  cheva- 
liers.    My  hawk, 

157 


158 


CABESTAING  ACT 


A  tiercel-peregrine,  struck  down  three  herons. 

AUBERT:     And  mine   two   hares.     A  fine 

gerfalcon  that. 
No  eyrie  in  the  Pyrenees  breeds  better. 

GIRAUD:     I  had  no  luck.     My  falcon  was 

an  eyas; 

And  burst  her  brails  and  with  her  jingling  bells 
And  dangling  jesses  winged  adown  the  wind. 
My  falconer  too  clumsily  let  slip 
Her  hood,  and  so  I  lost  a  hare  and  falcon. 

MALAMORT  :  Thy  usual  luck  with  hawks  as 

well  as  women. 
Something  is  ever  at  fault  with  both. 

AUBERT:  Not  so. 

One  lady  here,  I  think,  he  hath  in  brails. 
And  not  so  far  away  now  either. — See ! 
Here  comes  the  stately  Ermengard,  whose  eyes 
Are  wells  of  crystal  darkness,  glinting  ice, 
Where  men  may  drown  their  souls  for  love. 

GIRAUD  :  'T  is  true. 

And  with  her  one,  the  Lady  Beatrix, 
Whose  gaze  is  soulful  as  if  she  could  claim 
Kinship    with    Heaven. — Falcons    are    they 
both 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  159 

Rending  the  hearts  of  men  from  their  high 

station. 

{Enter,  from  the  gateway  above,  the  Ladies 
ERMENGARD  and  BEATRIX,  talking  and 
laughing. 

MALAMORT:     Ay:  yet  shall  both  find  mas- 
ters.    Whistle  them 

And  they  will  come  to  call  and  take  the  hood 
And  sit  upon  thy  wrist  like  any  goshawk. 
— Ladies,  we  greet  you.     We  have  had  good 

luck. 
AUBERT:     Ay:  here  are  feathers  for  your 

fancy,  see. 
And  fur  for  caps.     Fair  luck.     Some  pretty 

strikes. — 

Three  herons  and  two  rabbits. — Like  you  that  ? 
ERMENGARD:     By  Heaven!  they  strut  like 

folk  who  've  done  great  deeds, 
Killed   dragons  and  not  rabbits;  and  what 

praise — 
What   say'st  thou?    shall  we    praise    them, 

Beatrix? 

BEATRIX:     Not  I,  in  sooth.     I   keep  my 
praise  for  hunters. — 


l6o  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

What  is  there   here  to  brag  on? — Ay;  three 

herons  ? — 
I  see  but  one  (looking  at  AUBERT)  and  he  's 

much  like  a  crane, 
Long-shanked,  long-nosed. 

AUBERT:  A  heron  for  thy  hunting. 

BEATRIX:    I  hunt  not  herons,  neither  hawk 

for  hares. 

The  noble  hart  alone  is  worth  the  hunting. 
Him  only  would  I  slay ;  baying  him  there 
Deep  in  the  antlered  forest. — Oh,  the  joy, 
Oh,  the  wild  joy  of  it! 

MALAMORT:  Come,  slay  me  now. 

With  thy  blue-arrowed  eyes.     I  am  thy  hart, 
Long-bayed,  and  lean  with  running  from  thy 

shafts. 
ERMENGARD  :    Now  then,  have  at  thy  hart ! 

thou  hast  him  bayed. 
Have  at  him! — Look;  he  dares  thee  to  the 

fray. — 
Art  thou  turned  hind,  and  fleest  from  iky 

hart? 

BEATRIX:     Not  mine,  in  sooth:  I  am  for 
better  beasts. 


SC.  I  CABESTAING  l6l 

AUBERT:     Thou  meanest  better  fowl — that 

singing  bird 
The  Baron  Raymond  loves. 

MALAMORT:  Ay ;  Cabestaing. 

GIRAUD:    Troubadour  and  gentleman-usher 
to  our  Lady. 

[With  a  significant  smile. 
Our  Lord  is  sure  of  Margherita's  love, 
Else  had  he  never  placed  this  singing-bird 
In  her  rich  cage  to  sing  her  heart  away. 
BEATRIX:     I  hate  him  as  I  hate  the  songs 

he  sings, 

Because  they  're  beautiful  and  he — is  proud, 
And  neither  's  for  my  asking.  Would  that  I 
Were  the  wild  hawk  to  strike  this  sparrow 

down! 
MALAMORT:    Thou  art  the  hawk  to  strike 

him.     I  will  wear 

Thee,  wild  one,  on  my  wrist  and  whistle  thee 
The  way  to  fly. 

BEATRIX:  If  thou  wilt  train  me  to  it, 

And  make  the  quarry  good,  then  I  am  thine. 
AUBERT:     A  haggard  thou,  that  stoops  to 
no  man's  lure. 


l62  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

GIRAUD    (suddenly  illuminated) :     Oh !   lies 

the  wind  in  that  direction? 
ERMENGARD:  Nay. — 

Let  Cabestaing  but  ballade  her,  by  Heaven ! 
Haggard  she  were  no  more,  but  on  his  wrist. 
BEATRIX:     Not    I!    i'   faith! — Perhaps    I 

love  another. 
[Glancing  provocatively  at  M ALAMORT  and 

AUBERT. 

AUBERT:     Me  now  or  Malamort? 
BEATRIX:  I  speak  no  names. 

Be  thou  as  wise  when  thou  hast  come  to  love. 
ERMENGARD  :  Giraud,  thou  hearest :    When 

Experience  speaks 
Innocence    must    listen. — Gossip    links    our 

names. — 
An  thou  wouldst  have  me  love  thee,  let  my 

name 

Go  free  of  thine.     I  am  no  quarry  for 
Thy  nets  and  bird-lime.    Nay;  I  still  am  free. 
No  man  shall   cage   my  wildness,    no   man 

tame. 

GIRAUD:     I  am  a  merlin  that  shall  have 
thee  yet, 


SC.  I 


CABESTAING  163 


Thou  bird  of  paradise  with  rebel  plumes. 
ERMENGARD  :    Rebellious  ? — ay ! — My  cause 

is  Liberty. 

MALAMORT:     My  quarry  lies  not  that  way. 
It  is  here. 

[Regarding  BEATRIX. 
GIRAUD:     Alas!     I  fear  my  hunting  days 

are  over. 
BEATRIX:    And   thou   but   thirty! — Why, 

a  man  's  no  man 

Until  he  reaches  thirty.     Then  his  arm 
Is  what  it  should  be :  he  can  face  the  world 
With  woman   on  it.      And  his  mind,   that 

mawked 

And  moped  in  love,  hath  freed  itself  of  webs, 
And  all  the  dead  dry  insects  of  its  youth, 
And  shows  a  clean  room,  where  was  trash 

before, 

To  the  one  woman  who  hath  learned  to  love. 
AUBERT:     No  hope  for  me  then! — I  am 
twenty-five. — 

My  heart  is  full  of 

MALAMORT  (mockingly):    Songs,  like  Cabe- 
staing's? 


164  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

AUBERT  (regarding  BEATRIX  smilingly):  In- 
difference, say — 
Toward  her  fair  sex,  such  as  she  hath  for 

him, 

Our  troubadour,  Guillaume  de  Cabestaing. 
BEATRIX  (flaring  up) :    Am  I  a  badger  that 

thou  hound 'st  me  so 
With  Cabestaing? 

GIRAUD  (with  a  subtle  smile) :   Oh,  how  she 

hates  him! — Look! 
Here  comes  thy  Cabestaing. 

ERMENGARD:      Deep  drowned  in  thought. 

[CABESTANG    appears    above   and  slowly 

descends    the    terrace    stair    sunk    in 

thought.      ERMENGARD,    exaggeratedly, 

continues: 

What!   is  thy   Muse    insistent? — Worrisome 

wench ! — 
She  should  be  punished  with  neglect. — What 

now? 

Doth  she  divide  thy  mind  against  thy  heart, 
Intending  one  thing  and  thy  heart  another, 
Lining   thy  brow  with    care,   deep   as    thy 
rhymes? — 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  165 

Or  is  it  that  she  hesitates  between 
Aubade  and  chanson?     Or,  divided  now 
'Twixt  love  and  war,  perplexed  which  way 

to  turn, 

Sits  in  the  lists  of  Fancy;  tournaments, 
Where  bugled  Pasquinades  ride  cap-a-pie 
Before  the  eyes  of  Beauty  and  her  Court. 
Or   where,    Love's    roses    in    his    hair,    Sir 

Sonnet, 

On  an  adoring  knee,  in  Passion's  garden, 
Lutes  it  before  the  Queen  of  Loveliness. 
CABESTAING  (smiling):     I  am  no  poet  to 

reply  to  that. 

I  see  I  have  a  rival. — Thou  hast  asked. — 
My  Muse  is  never  prompt  to  make  reply 
On  any  occasion.     Now  she  owns  defeat, 
And  bows  surrender  to  superior  forces. 
The  standard  of  thy  question  is  so  high, 
I  have  no  metaphors  to  make  reply. 

BEATRIX:     Still    thou    canst    speak    in 

rhyme.     But  modesty 
Becomes  all  greatness;  most  of  all  a  poet. 
ERMENGARD:     I  am  not  answered   yet. — 

Come,   tell  us  now 


l66  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

On  what  grave  dirge  thou  thinkest.     Is  Love 

dead? 

Or  Beauty  buried? — Why  dost  blot  and  blur 
The   clear,    glad   writing  of  thy  brow  with 

trouble  ? 
Leave  such  to  jongleurs  and  to    wandering 

gleemen. 

Thou  art  too  young  to  bother  yet  with  sorrow. 
Thou  art   Love's  troubadour,  therefore — be 

glad: 
For  love  means  gladness. 

CABESTAING  (seriously):   Nay.     Thou  hast 

not  loved. — 
In   Provence,  as  all  know,  Love    holds  his 

Court 

Among  his  Ladies,  Knights  and  Troubadours. 
'T  was  there  I  learned  that  Love  is  oftener  sad 
Than  glad;  yea,  given  up  to  melancholy. 
The  Minnesingers  of  the  Rhine,  they  say, 
Triumph  in  sadness,  and  they  sing  of  love. 
Love  is  not  love  unless  't  is  touched  with 

sadness. 
MALAMORT:    That  argues  thee  in  love,  for 

thou  art  sad. 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  1 67 

CABESTAING:    What  troubadour  was  ever 

not  in  love  ? 
'T  is  their  existence.       Love  is  Song's  own 

food. 

Without  it  we  should  perish,  and  our  songs 
Die  ere  we  died,  for  lack  of  audience. 
The  world  can  do  without  its  songs  of  war 
But  not  without  its  love -songs. 

GIRAUD:  That  is  true. — 

Dost  thou  believe  it,  Lady  Ermengard? 
ERMENGARD:     I  shall  believe  it  when  I  am 

in  love. — 

'T  is  but  a  troubadour  fancy.     He  but  speaks 
According  to  his  calling.     'T  is  his  business 
To  be  in  love,  or  to  pretend  it  till 
He  thinks  he  is.     He  were  no  poet  else. 
Pretension  makes  in  some  ways  for  belief; 
And  he  who  still  pretends  a  thing,  at  last 
Comes  to  believe  the  thing  that  he  pretends. 
CABESTAING  :    There  spoke  the  woman  that 

is  all  pretence, 

Pretending  she  believes  what  is  pretence. 
Not  in  the   Courts  of  Love  hast  thou  been 
judge. 


1 68  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

Hadst  thou  been  learn'd  in  love,  quite  other- 
wise 
Hadst  thou  then  spoken.     Love  is  no  light 

thing. 

BEATRIX  (casting  up  her  eyes,  mock-tragic- 
ally) :     Deeper  than  ocean ;  higher  than 
the  stars. 
AUBERT   (smilingly):     Just  deep  as  is  the 

fountain  of  thy  wit ; 
Not  higher  than  thy  heart. 

BEATRIX  (caustically) :         A  fountain,  Sir, 
Too  deep  for  thee  to  wade ;  a  heart, ;too  high 
For  thee  to  ever  reach  with  love  of  thine. 
ERMENGARD:     Have  done  with  badinage. 

Be  serious  now. 
(Addressing  Cabestaing) :     We  have  a  message 

for  thee. 
M  ALAMORT     (pretending     disappointment) : 

Not  for  us? — 

I  flattered  me,  you  made  such  honied  buzzings, 
That  we  (with  a  comprehensive  sweep  of  his 
hand  towards  AUBERT  and  GIRAUD)  here 
were  the  flowers,  you  the  bees 
That  sought  us  for  our  nectar. 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  169 

B  EATRIX  (with  laughing  scorn) :    God  forbid ! 
The  nectar  you  would  give  hath  poison  in  it : 
'T  is  death  to  virtue. — No!  we  are  no  fools. 
CABESTAING      (with     brightening     aspect) : 
Whom  do  you  messenger? — My  Lord 
or  Lady? 

GIRAUD  :  And  he  can  ask  that . 
ERMENGARD  (sharply):  Surely  he 

can  ask, 

And  I  can  answer. — Lady  Margherita 
Bade  Beatrix  and  me  to  seek  thee  out; 
Command  thee  to  her  presence. 

M ALAMORT  (contemptuously) :     'T  is  a 

ballad, 

A  song,  to  sing  to-night  for  her  at  table, 
Beyond  a  doubt.     She  hath  thought  out  the 

subject, 
And  he  shall  now  elaborate  it. 

CABESTAING  (calmly) :  Ay? — 

But  what  she  thinks  needs  no  elaboration: 
'T  is  perfect  from  beginning — like  herself. 
ERMENGARD  (laughingly  to  MALAMORT)  :    A 
rapier  hit,  and  underneath  thy  guard. 
BEATRIX    (sarcastically    to    CABESTAING)  : 


I/O  .    CABESTAING  ACT  I 

Thou  saidst  but   now  thou  wert  not 

apt  at  answer. — 

If  with  thy  sword  art  ready  as  thy  wit, — 
Thou  need'st  not  fear  whoever  draws  against 

thee. 
[CABESTAING,  ERMENGARD,  and  BEATRIX 

pass  up  the  terrace  stair  and  into  the  castle. 
MALAMORT  (annoyed):    Well  spoken.     But 

a  fool  as  lovers  go. 

She  'd  have  him  near  her  always — Margherita. 
Jealous  of  every  moment  he  's  away. — 
Raymond  is  blind,  or  so  wrapped  up  in  love, — 
In  her,  who  holds  him  utterly,  that  he 
Can  see  no  farther  than  her  mouth  and  eyes, 
That  say  and  look  the  love  they  have  not  for 

him. — 

This  fellow  left  her  but  a  second  ago, 
And  on  the  heels  of  his  departure,  lo, 
Treads  her  command  that  he  straightway 

return. 
AUBERT:     What  think  you  now  our  Lady 

wants  with  him? 
T  is    something    very   urgent — some    great 

favour. 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  I?  I 

GIRAUD  :    She  'd  give,  or  take  ? — What  say 'st 

thou  Malamort? 
MALAMORT:     A  rose,   perhaps.     I  saw  he 

wore  a  rose. 
GIRAUD:     Or  maybe   't  was  a   word.     A 

happy  rhyme. 
AUBERT:     A  word  that  rhymes  with  bliss 

or,  say,  with  dove. 

MALAMORT  (sneeringly) :     Or  with  the  new- 
moon,  like  her  eyebrow ;  or 
With  eve's  first  stars,  like  her  romantic  eyes; 
Or  with  the    rossignols,    whose    throats    are 

sweet 

As  her  sweet  throat:     Any  or  all  of  these, — 
Metaphors  no  Poet  would  disdain  to  use. 

[A  bugle  is  heard  outside  the  gates  of  the 

castle. 

AUBERT:  Visitors? — 'T  is  good.   The  bugle- 
note  was  strange. 
I  know  Lord  Raymond's.     This  was  none  of 

his 
GIRAUD:     God  grant  that  Ladies,  kindlier 

than  our  two, 
Be  of  their  train.     I  care  not  who  they  are. 


172  *CABESTAING  ACTI 

MALAMORT  :    Let 's  to  the  mews  and  watch 

the  falcons  feed 

Until  our  Lord  returns. — We  might  suggest 
Some  better  prey  now  to  the  falconer 
To  make  the  young  hawks  fiercer.     Thine, 

Giraud, 

Thy  eyas  needs  such,  with  its  unimped  wings. 
AUB  E RT  :    The  heart  of  Lady  B  eatrix  would 

serve. 

No  fiercer  morsel  in  the  world  I  know. 
MALAMORT  :     Or  Cabestaing's  now. 
GIRAUD  :  His 

would  never  do. 
'T  would  gentle  them  too  much. 

AUBERT:  It  would  conform 

Their  natures  to  its  own  and  make  them  sing, 
Changing  our  peregrines  to  nightingales. 

MALAMORT  (disgustedly):  Bah!  nightin- 
gales !  Women  are  caught  with  them. 
[They  pass  into  the  castle  by  way  of  the 
balustraded  stair.  As  they  disappear, 
enter,  from  opposite  side  of  stage,  RAY- 
MOND of  Roussillon,  ROBERT  of  Tar- 
ascon,  his  wife,  AGNES,  and  several 


sc.  I  CABESTA1NG  173 

attendants.     The  latter,  dusty  and  tired 

as  from  a  long  journey,  pass  out  through 

the  Gothic  gateway  to  right. 
ROBERT:     Already  I   feel  rested,   though 

arrived 

A  moment  since.    The  air  breathes  appetite. — 
Without  a   stop  we  rode  all  day. — I  count 

not 

That  half  hour  at  the  vilest  inn  I  know, 
Five  leagues  from  here,  where  Hunger  was  our 

host, 
And  the  four  winds  of  Heaven  were  all  he 

served  us. — 
The  wine — by  God! — the  wine  he  tendered 

us 

Was  iron  and  acid,  worse  than  vinegar. 
RAYMOND  (darkly):    That  inn  is  bad.     I 

have  a  mind  to  burn  it, 
And  hang  its  keeper. 

ROBERT  (smilingly) :    He  deserves  it.     Ay. 
'T  were  better  though  to  choke  him  with  his 

brew; 
Poison  him  with  his  wine.     By  God!  't  were 

just. 


1/4  *'CABESTAING  ACT  I 

RAYMOND  (with  a  grim  smile) :    I  will  think 

on  it.     I  have  heard  complaints. — 
[Brightening,  with  a  more  cordial  manner, 

but  still  morosely: 
'T  is    good    to    have    you    here    with     us 

again. — 
How  like  you  now  the  prospect  ? 

AGNES  (with  a  glance  around) :      Beautiful. 
Thou  shouldst  be  happy,  Raymond,  with  thy 

wife 
And  these  surroundings. 

RAYMOND:  Happiness,  my  sister, 

Is  of  the  mind,  not  of  environment. 
A  peasant  in  his  hut  is  happier, 
With  but  his  wench  and  brats  and  naught  to 

eat, 
Than  is  the  Lord  of  Castel-Roussillon. 

ROBERT  (astonished;  then  sympathisingly) : 
What  curse  is  on  thee? — True;  thou 
hast  no  son 

To  occupy  ambitions  of  thy  age. — 
Thou  shouldst  have  married  earlier.      Mar- 

gherita 
Is  younger  now  than  Agnes. — It  is  strange 


sc.  r  CABESTAING  1/5 

Thou  hast  no  children.     We  have  three. — *T 

is  strange. 
AGNES   (explainingly):     One  son  and  two 

fair  daughters,  as  thou  knowest. — 
But,  Robert,  thou  art  but  a  blunderer 
At  consolation. — If  't  is  lack  of  children 

That  grieves  Lord  Raymond 

RAYMOND  (peevishly) :  How  can  I 

explain  ? 

It  is  not  lack  of  children  overclouds  me. — 
Though  children  compensate  for  many  ills. — 
'T  is  something  back  here ;  burns  me ;  in  my 

brain, — 

Or  in  my  heart ; — a  sullen,  wolfish  passion, 
Glowering  and  snarling  in  its  labyrinth, 
Like  some  old,  wounded  beast  within  its  cave 
Brooding  on  vengeance  nursed  for  one  un- 
known. 
ROBERT  (with  emphatic  conviction):    Thy 

conscience,  man,  needs  cleansing.     To 

the  priest. — 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  enter  the  new  crusades, 
And  wash  thy  conscience  clear  in  heathen 

blood. 


176  CABESTAING 


ACT  I 


There   's  nothing  like   the    fanfare    of    the 

trumpets, 

And  the  wild  hurl  of  arms  in  Christian  battle 
To  make  a  man  forget  an  ancient  wrong. 
RAYMOND  (gloomily):     No  wrong  or  sin  is 

mine.     I  know  not  what 
This  basilisk  is.     But  for  some  three  months 

now 
A  gloom  hath  dogged  me  with  the  feet  of 

doom: 

An  old  foreboding  of  approaching  ill. — 
I  am  no  young  man. 
AGNES   (with  a  conciliatory  smile):     Dost 

imply  by  that 

Thy  wife  is  young? — Is  that  a  cause  for  gloom? 
Thy  Margherita  married  thee  for  love. 
Thou  art  not  old  to  her:  nor  art  thou  old. 
No  man  is  old  at  forty-five ! — Good  Saints ! — 
Look  at  my  Robert  there — past  fifty  years ! — 
He  is  not  old  as  hearts  go ;  but  is  younger, 
Ay,  stronger  too  than  the  young  fools  that 

fancy 
Grey  hairs  and  wrinkles  make  for  what  is 

old. 


SC.  I  CABESTAING 

RAYMOND     (despondently)'.     Younger  than 

I  by  many  happy  years. 
ROBERT:     I  have  seen  life,  'tis  true,  and 

have  been  happy. 

Thou  too  hast  seen  some  happy  years,  I  know. 
Thou    art    cast    down   now   for  no   certain 

reason. — 
I   have    grown    stout    on    happiness,    thou 

seest. 

My  wife  and  children  make  me  comfortable. 
Comfort  it  is  that  counts  for  happiness. 
RAYMOND:     I  am  provided  for  in  many 

ways. 

I  have  some  comfort  here,  as  thou  canst  see: 

A  beautiful  wife ;  some  friends ;  a  troubadour — 

[Brightening  suddenly. 

Guillaume    de    Cabestaing. — To-night    shalt 

hear  him. 
ROBERT     (dubiously) :   I  care  not  much  for 

troubadours.     They  sing 
The  devil  into  women. — None  of  them 
Has  ever  crossed  my  drawbridge. — But,  per- 
haps,— 
Returning  to  this  settled  melancholy, — 


178  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

'T  is  action  which  thou  needest:   some  dis- 
traction 
Of  camp  or  court. — Why  not  don  spur  for 

Paris?— 

Life  should  not  be  all  abstinence :  excess 
Should  not  possess  it,  either,  utterly: 
Observe  the  happy  middle  course,  say  I, 
And  time  will  ne'er  prove  tedious. 

RAYMOND:  That  is  true. — 

The  crusades,  as  thou  sayest,  now  might  aid. 
There  might  1  find  employment  for  my  sword, 
And  fling  this  mood  aside  as  now  this  cloak. 
[Removing  at  the  same  time  his  cloak  from 
his  shoulders  and  flinging  it  over  his  arm. 
Meanwhile  I  wait  and  brood ;  and  from  myself 
Attempt  escape  in  knightly  exercises, 
The  chase  or  tournament. — Be  kind  now:  tell 

me, 

If  in  thy  journey  hither  anything, 
Rumoured   or  ascertained,  thou  heardst   or 

saw'st 

Of  moment :  prospect  of  some  savage  thing, 
Be  it  a  beast  or  man,  to  hunt :  or  anywhere 
Report  of  any  tournament,  where  I, — 


SC.  I 


CA  BEST  A  ING  1 79 


If  but  for  one  glad  day, — might  find  escape 
From  my  own  self  in  the  fierce  rush  of  strife. 
ROBERT:     No  tournament  I  know  of:  but  a 

beast, 

One  worthy  of  thy  metal,  is  reported: 
A  wild-boar  of  the  Pyrenees,  that  spreads 
Destruction  'mid  the  peasantry.     Our  way 
Was  marked  with  bloody  mile-stones  of  its 

havoc 

In  fearful  tales  each  peasant  had  to  tell. 
AGNES  :     My  heart  was  in  my  eyes  and  ears 

the  while 

We  passed  the  forest  where  the  monster  lairs, 
Some  three    leagues    to   the  north. — Thank 

Heaven  we  're  here ! 
ROBERT  :     And  so  say  I. — A  good  meal  now, 

by  God! 

Will  top  me  with  content. — As  for  thy  cook, 
Thy  old  Pierre, — I  know  there  is  no  better 
In  all  Provence. — Good  cheer,  good  cheer,  my 

Lord, 
Will  end   thy  melancholy.         Dost  not  eat 

enough. 
Trust  me  to  know. 


180  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

RAYMOND:  Pierre  and  Cabestaing, — 

They  are  two  artists  I  depend  upon : 
One  feeds  the  physical,  one  the  mental,  man. 
I  eat  enough,  good  Robert,  have  no  fear, 
But  music  helps  me  more  than  any  food: 
It  is  a  great  physician  for  the  soul. 

ROBERT:     A  doctor,  Raymond,  I  could  do 

without. 

Song  is  not  necessary  to  my  stomach — 
But  good  food  is. — Deliver  me  from  fasting ! — 
AGNES     (mischievously) :     Thou  wilt  grow 

lean  with  eating.     Look  at  him! — 
Raymond,  he  cannot  mount  his  horse  for  fat 
Without  a  groom  to  help  him.     And  he  puffs, 
Between  complaints  of  how  his  body  tires, 
If    he    but    walk    between    his    mews    and 

kennels. 

Feed  him  on  music  while  we  are  with  you ; 
There  is  no  better  diet  now  for  love, 
And  he  's  in  love.     Feed  him  on  song,  say  I. 
RAYMOND  (responding  to  her  spirit) :  There 

is  no  telling  where  he  would  end  then — 
As  bow,  perhaps,  to  some  stringed  instrument 
That  sighs  of  love  continually. — Well, 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  l8l 

What   dost   thou   say,    Sir   Robert?  we   are 

serious. 
ROBERT  (phlegmatically) :  God  send  me  still 

a  healthy  appetite ! — 
As  for  the  rest — I  care  not. — Where  's  thy 

wife? 
RAYMOND:     Shall  we  go  in  and  greet  her 

and  my  friends? — 

She  will  be  entertained  to  know  you  're  here. 
ROBERT    (as  they  ascend  the  terrace  stair 
towards  the   entrance):     Cast    off   thy 
gloom,  man.     We  will  find  a  way 
To  make  thee  happy  yet. 

RAYMOND  (despondently) :     I  do  not  know. 
The  black  disease,  I  fear,  hath  gone  too  far. 
[They  pass  into  the  castle. 


SCENE  n 

Dusk.  The  garden  as  before.  Enter  Lady 
MARGHERiTA/rom  the  terrace  above.  She 
seats  herself  on  a  stone  bench  at  the 
foot  of  the  stair,  and  loses  herself  in 
thought. 

MARGHERITA:     I   must   confess   or    perish 

with  denying 

This  in  my  heart  which  still  refutes  denial. 
How  many  months    now  hath   it   tortured 

me? — 

The  time  seems  limitless  to  love  that  waits 
Fruition ;  but  to  me  where  sweet  its  fruit 
Ripened  long  months   ago, — when    first  we 

met, — 

The  tree  of  promise  ages  with  restraint 
And  dies  of  drought,  its  golden  fruit  upon  it. 
Had  I  not  loved  the  troubadour  in  him 

When  first  we  met,  my  heart,  without  a  word, 
182 


sc.  ii  CABESTAING  183 

Had  instantly  surrendered  to  the  man ; 
The  man,  so  gentle,  gallant,  so  superior. — 
Now  he  must  know — must  know.     This  long 

delay 

Must  have  an  end  in  understanding.     He, 
In  some  way,  by  a  look  or  word,  must  learn 
What  I  have  hid  here  in  my  heart  so  long. 
All  hesitancy  must  be  put  aside ; 
Passion  must  speak,  the  eloquent  of  tongue, 
And  what  men  name  immodesty  when  woman 
Confesses  love  to  him  who  has  not  asked. — 
The   distance   that   the   world    of   men    has 

placed 
Between  his  heart  and  mine  has  kept   him 

silent. 

The  world  of  Love  obliterates  that  distance, 
And  face  to  face  now  shall  our  spirits  speak. 
Long  have  I  seen  the  love  that  waits  on  me 
Homing  within  his  eyes:  and  all  his  songs, 
Between  the  lines,  cry  heartbreak  things  to 

me. — 
Queens  have   revealed  themselves  to  those 

they  loved, 
However  low  their  station,  and  been  happy. — 


1 84  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

But  he  is  nobler  in  his  soul  than  all 

That  man   holds    noble,    though    a    beggar 

born. — 
Modesty,   till   now,  has  held  me.     It  must 

go.— 

I  bade  him  write  a  poem.     Such  an  one 
As   he  would    fashion   for  his    heart's    own 

mate, 

And  bring  it  here  and  read  it  me  at  dusk. 
[A  lute  is  heard  approaching  through  the 

shrubbery  of  the  upper  terrace,  to  the  left 

of  the  castle  entrance. 
He  comes. — My  heart,  oh,  let  him  hear  and 

heed!— 

Be  eloquent,  my  soul,  and  let  confession 
Look  from  the  casements  of  thine  eyes,  and 

speak 
The  heart's  consent  love  hath   no  words  to 

say. 
[CABESTAING   enters  above,  strumming  a 

lute.     Seeing   the   Lady  MARGHERITA 

seated  on  the  lower  terrace,  he   comes 

swiftly  down  the  terrace  stair,  seizes  both 

her  hands  impetuously  in  his  and  kisses 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  185 

them.     MARGHERITA  continues,  ecstati- 
cally : 

What  ministers  of  beauty  walk  with  thee  ? 

Surprise  and  Passion  and  pale  Inspiration. — 

Would  that  one  thought  of  me  were  of  their 

train ! 

CABESTAING:     Without    that    thought    of 
thee  they  could  not  be, 

Lady,  by  whom  I  live.     There  is  no  song, 

Sung  or  unsung,  of  mine  that  draws  not  music 

From  thy  high  loveliness. 

MARGHERITA:  Thou  art  a  poet: 

Needs  must  thou  speak  thus  when  a  Countess 
asks. 

What  says  thy  heart  now? — Put  thy  art  aside 

And  let  the  man  speak.      I  would  hear  thy 

heart. 

CABESTAING:    The  artist  is  a  portion  of  his 
art, 

And  what  it  speaks  inevitably  is  part 

Of  what  the  man  is. 

MARGHERITA:       Then  convince  me  now. — 

Hast  thou  a  song  in  which  the  man  's  sub- 
merged? 


1 86  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

Which  evidences  the  authority 
Of  that  within  the  soul,  naught  can  deny, 
The  truth,  eternal,  which  shall  win  belief? 
CABESTAING:    The   song  thou   bad'st   me 

write  I  have  with  me. 
MARGHERITA:    Then  let  me  hear  it.     Take 

thy  lute  and  sing. 

[CABESTAING  seats  himself  at  her  side  and, 
striking  a  few  preliminary  chords,  he 
sings: 

There  was  no  wind  to  kiss  awake 
The  rosebuds  in  the  wildrose  brake ; 
And  yet  I  heard  a  whisper  go 
Above  the  roses  bending  low, 
A  voice  that  sighed  as  summer  sighs : 
"Come!  open  wide  your  dewy  eyes, 
And  look  on  me  for  joy's  own  sake : 
I  am  the  Love  that  never  dies, 
The  Love  for  her  that  never  dies, 
The  Love  she  will  not  stoop  to  take. " 

In  all  the  world  there  was  no  word, 
Yet  deep  within  my  soul  there  stirred 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  187 

A  music  which,  in  wondrous  way, 
Breathed  ecstasy  that,  night  and  day, 
Sang,  like  some  godlike  comforter: 
"Come!   open  wide  thy  heart;  aver 
The  Love  there  singing;  Love,  the  bird, 
Whose  wings  are  fain  to  fly  to  her, 
Whose  ardent  wings  would  fly  to  her, 
Who  never  yet  hath  seen  or  heard." 

MARGHERITA:   There  is  no  passion  in  thy 

song:  no  throb 

Of  revelation  that  reveals. — Removed, 
Remote,  and  unconvincing. — Oh,  that  thou 
Couldst  speak  as  I  would  have  thee !     As  my 

heart 

Makes  eloquent  with  ecstasy  my  soul, 
That  urges  to  possession — Oh,  that  I 
Should  tell  thee  this! — But   'twas  thy  song 

that  prompted. 
Thy  song — thou  might 'st  have  sung  to  any 

Lady: 

Me,  Beatrix,  or  Ermengard.     It  lacks 
Distinction,  point.   If  thou  wouldst  win  for  aye 
The  heart  of  any  woman,  then  put  fire 


1 88  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

And  passion  of  possession  in  thy  song. 
The  voice  of  Love  should  rise  insistent ;  flame 
With  fierce  compulsion ;  and  its  music  burn. 
I  know  this,  for  I  love,  and  would  be  loved. 
CABESTAING:    Ah,  not  by  me!  not  by  thy 

troubadour? 
MARGHERITA:     And  wherefore  not  by  him, 

my  troubadour  ? 

Look  in  mine  eyes,  thy  hand  upon  thy  heart, 
And    tell    me    what   thou   readest   in  mine 

eyes.  .  .  . 
My  soul  has  called  thee  wearily,  night  and 

day, 

But  thine  hath  never  heard,  being  enthralled 
With  other  fancies,  bloodless,  of  thy  mind. 
CABESTAING:     I    read    thy    secret    many 

moons  ago, 

But  curbed  the  longing  here  within  my  heart, 
The  deep  response  of  passion  to  possess. 
I  would  not  let  my  tongue  speak  as  my  heart 
Prompted  and,  frequently,  almost  compelled. 
Lord  Raymond  towered,  like  despair,  between 
The  gateway  of  thy  loveliness  and  me. 
Oh,  could  I  fling  his  benefactions  by, 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  189 

And  stand  up  free,  unburdened  of  his  gifts, 
A  man  like  other  men,  and  with  the  right 
To  claim  the  one  thing  that,  above  all  others, 
My  soul  desires,  this  rose  of  Paradise, 
That  I  would  wear  for  ever  on  my  heart ; 
Then  could  I  sing  as  thou  wouldst  have  me 

sing, 

And  say  the  words  that  halt  now  on  my  lips 
For  adequate  utterance,  and  cry  to  Fate, — 
"Do  what  thou  wilt  with  me!  do  what  thou 

wilt! 

I  have  the  one  desire  of  my  soul, 
And  nothing  more  can  matter  in  the  world!" 
MARGHERITA  :    At  last !  at  last ! — Long  have 

I  yearned  to  hear 
Words  like  these  words :  and  read  within  thy 

face 

Corroboration  of  their  poetry. 
This  is  the  mightiest  chanson  thou  hast  sung. 
Yet  greater  shalt  thou  sing:  for  Love  shall 

charge 
Thy  words  with  moment  such  as  none  hath 

known, 
Till  every  thought  becomes  a  testament 


'     CABESTAING  ACT  I 

Of  beauty  sure  of  immortality. — 
How  long  hast  loved  me  ? 

[His  lute  has  fallen  by  his  side.     Both  her 

hands  are  in  his,  and  they  gaze  into  each 

other's  eyes. 

CABESTAING:  From  the  very  day 

I  met  thee  here  at  Roussillon,  and  Raymond 
Made    me    thy    gentleman-usher,   and  thou 

smil'dst 

Upon  my  lute's  endeavours  in  thy  praise. 
Not  gradual  was  its  growth,  my  rose  of  Love: 
Sudden  'twas  there,  full  blown  and  breathing 

fire, 

With  all  the  rapture  of  existence  in  it. 
Then  in  my  soul  were  opened  springs  of  light ; 
The  fountain  of  my  being  ran  with  beauty, 
Drawn  from  the  inspiration  of  my  love. 
Why,  ev'n  my  words  took  on  the  attributes, 
It  seemed,  of  my  desire ;  and  when  I  sang 
Before  my  Lord  and  thee,  surely,  I  thought, 
I  have  betrayed  myself;  't  is  manifest 
To  all  how  high  my  love  is,  how  't  is  she, 
The  unattainable. — At  last  attained. 

[They  kiss  passionately. 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  IQI 

Now  let  Fate  send  whatever  it  will  send ! 
We   've   had   this   moment   that   can   never 

die.  .  .  . 
MARGHERITA:    Thou  wilt  sing  many  songs 

in  praise  of  Love, 

But  none  so  poignant  with  eternity 
As  this  one  instant. — See ;  the  stars  and  moon, 
The  fountain  and  the  marble  and  the  flowers 
Have  taken  on  a  loveliness  not  of  earth. 
The  rossignol  hath  taken  fire  of  love 
From  our  wild  words  and  kisses,  and  pours 

forth 

A  strain  more  passionate  than  it  ever  poured. — 
Older  than  all  we  dream  is  Love ;  and  yet, 
'T  is   young   and   fresh  as   this   dew-heavy 
rose. — 

;  [Plucking  a  rose. 

Take  it  and  wear  it  on  thy  heart  of  hearts : 
It  is  the  badge  of  my  possession,  love, 
And  marks  thee  mine  as  I  am  thine. 

CABESTAING:  This  kiss 

Shall  seal  our  love.     (Kissing  her,  and  pluck- 
ing a  rose  and  placing  it  in  her  hair.) 
This  rose  be  pledge  to  thee 


IQ2  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

Of  constancy. — I  feel  the  god  within  me 
Burn  as  he  never  burned  before.     What  light 
Of  majesty  is  round  me !     Bright  of  hair 
And  eyes  and  lips  I  feel  it  touch  me  now, 
Possessing  and  compelling.     Night  is  filled 
With  cosmic  music,  archangelic  song, 
And  on  its  tide  our  souls,  inseparably, 
Are  swept  beyond  the  stars  of  circumstance. 
MARGHERITA:     Come  with  me  now.     We 

must  not  linger  here. 
I  shall  be  missed.     Perhaps  these  trees  have 

eyes, 

These  flowers  ears,  they  look  and  listen  so. 
In  Hall  they  are  at  table.     Raymond  fumes 
When  I  'm  away. — He  hath  been  moody  of 

late.— 

No  one  must  speak  of  seeing  us  together. — 
We  must  be  careful. — He  must  never  know — 
Oh,  God!  must  never  know! — The  beast,  that 

sleeps, 
Would  put  forth  claws  to  rend  thee,  rend  and 

tear. 
[Possessed  as  it  were  with  a  dread  of  some 

approaching  calamity  she  leans  staring 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  IQ3 

before  her,  her  hands  dejectedly  clasped 
between  her  knees,  while  she  repeats  in 
a  voice  scarcely  above  a  whisper : 
Raymond  must  never  know !  must  never  know ! 
CABESTAING  (rising  with  a  determined  ges- 
ture) :  For  thy  sake  he  must  not ;  but 
not  for  mine. 

I  care  not  for  myself  if  he  should  know. 
I  am  a  man,  too,  and  I  long  to  stand, 
Bare  sword  to  sword,  before  this  man  of  men, 
And  wrest  possession  from  him  at  a  stroke. 
I  would  proclaim  it  with  exultant  tongue 
Were  it  not  for  thy  honour,  thy  high  name. 
I  am  Lord  Raymond's  equal  now.     My  soul 
Stands  loftier  in  the  sight  of  Love  and  God, 
Seigneured  of  thee,  thy  love,  whose  kiss  but 

now 

Has  accoladed  me  thy  knight  of  knights; 
And  badged  me  with  nobility  above 
That  of  a  king. — Wild  words!  wild  words  are 

mine. 
And,   as  thou   sayest,   Raymond  must  not 

know. — 

I  '11  guard  my  eyes  and  tongue. 
13 


194  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

MARGHERITA:  Oh,  suzerain 

And  overlord  of  all  my  heart's  demesne, 
Thou  stirr'st  my  soul  as  nothing  has  before. 
One  kiss,  and  yet  again,  before  we  part. — 
See,  where  the  moon  climbs  o'er  the  donjon- 
tower  ! 
CABESTAING  :   Moon  of  my  world  of  dreams, 

my  moon  of  women ! 
Into  the  donjon  of  a  soul  thou  shinest 
Upon   a  prisoner  there — Love,  thou  sett'st 

free.  .  .  . 

[She  passes  up  the  terrace  stair,  while  he 
remains  below  by  the  stone  bench.  She 
turns  at  the  head  of  the  stair  for  one 
parting  look,  then  disappears  swiftly 
into  the  castle.  He  remains,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  entrance  where  she  disap- 
peared. Slow  curtain. 


ACT  II 

SCENE  i 

Night.  A  great  Hall  in  Castel-Roussillon, 
hung  with  armour  and  weapons  of  war  and 
the  chase.  A  huge  stone  fireplace,  in  which 
the  fire  has  died  out,  centre,  at  back  of  Hall. 
On  either  side  of  it  a  lofty  entrance,  Gothic 
in  character,  supporting  on  their  lintels  of 
stone  the  carven  arms  of  the  Barons  of 
Roussillon.  To  the  left  an  embayed  case- 
ment opening  upon  a  small  balcony  of 
stone  overlooking  the  mountain  precipice 
which  forms  a  portion  of  the  foundation 
of  the  castle.  Torches  in  sconces  of  iron 
light  the  Hall.  A  carven  table  of  massy 
oak  in  the  centre  is  spread  as  for  a  ban- 
quet. RAYMOND  of  Roussillon,  ROBERT  of 
Tarascon,  AUBERT,  MALAMORT,  and  GIR- 
AUD  and  AGNES,  the  wife  of  ROBERT  of 
i95 


196  CABESTAING  ACT  I 

Tarascon,  with  the  Ladies  of  Roussillon, 
ERMENGARD  and  BEATRIX,  are  just  seating 
themselves  as  the  curtain  rises.  Pages  and 
retainers  attending.  Enter  MARGHERITA. 

RAYMOND:  Why  are  we  thus  kept  waiting? 
MARGHERITA:  Grant  me  pardon. 

The  twilight  and  the  full  moon  and  the  moun- 
tains, 

The  roses  and  the  nightingales,  the  garden, 
Set  me  to  dreaming.     I  forgot  the  hour. 
This  is  my  poor  excuse.     Will  it  suffice? — 
I  did  not  dream  it  was  so  late. 

[Seats  herself  beside  RAYMOND.  Attend- 
ants bring  in  and  set  upon  the  table 
various  dishes.  All  are  served.  MAR- 
GHERITA puts  a  pleading  hand  on 
RAYMOND'S  arm. 

Am  I  forgiven? 
RAYMOND  (unmollified;  sullenly) :  Here  are 

arrived  thy  sister  and  her  husband 
Upon  their  way  to  Tarascon :  they  stay 
The  night  with  us.     Thou  wast  not  here  to 
greet  them. 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  197 

ROBERT  (hastily,  in  fear  of  a  marital  out- 
burst) :  I  shall  forgive  her  if  her  sister 
will. 
AGNES    (pleasantly  smiling):   I   know  the 

garden;  it  is  wrapped  in  spells. — 
Witchcraft,  whose  name  is  Springtime,  held 

my  sister: 

It  wove  old  sorceries  of  the  moon  and  flowers, 
And  the  wild  music  of  the  rossignols. — 
Raymond,  thou  must  forgive  her. — Say  thou 

wilt. 
RAYMOND  (sombrely) :  Too  much  she  muses 

mid  the  nightingales. 
MALAMORT  (laughing  lightly) :  There  is  one 

nightingale  that  sings  there  whom 
Our  Ladies  all  have  given  their  fancy  to. 
My  Lord,  he  holds  their  fickle  hearts  in  fee. 
RAYMOND  (with  grim  humour) :    A  night- 
ingale?   I  '11  have  his  tongue.  They  say 
Their  tongues  were   much    desired    by  the 

Caesars. — 

Their  hearts,  I  think,  were  better  eating,  eh? 
What  say'st  thou,  Robert,  to  a  dish  of  them? 
A  golden  platter  served  with  golden  music? 


198  CABESTA1NG  ACT  H 

ROBERT  (soberly) :  I  am  for  solid  meat.    No 

nightingales'  hearts 

Would  stay  my  appetite .    As  for  the  music — 
It  would  disturb  digestion;  hag-ride  sleep. — 
Only  the  horns  of  war  or  of  the  hunt 
Can  hold  me  with  their  charm. 
MARGHERITA  (to  RAYMOND  with  a  rebuking 
smile) :  Oh,  thou  art  cruel. 

Speak  not  so  brutally  of  things  that  sing. — 
The  nightingales  and  full  moon  kept  me  long, 
'T  is  true,  but  here  is  our  own  rossignol 
To  sing  thee  into  humour. 

[As  CABESTAING  enters. 
AGNES  (to  MARGHERITA,  aside) :  If  he  would, 
I  'd  have  him  write  a  song  for  my  own  lute ; 
One  full  of  fire  of  youth,  as  is  his  face. 

MARGHERITA  (aside):  Many  of  such  he  has; 

I  11  ask  one  for  thee. 
MALAMORT  (aside  to  BEATRIX)  :  Here  comes 

the  only  nightingale  she  loves. 
BEATRIX  (caustically):  Oh !  dost  thou  envy 

him? 

RAYMOND    (with  rough  enthusiasm) :    Our 
Cabestaing? — 


sc.  I  CABE3TAING  199 

Ay,  there  's  a  troubadour,  by  God  and  Mary! 

[As  CABESTAING  comes  into  the  line  of  his 

vision;  RAYMOND  not  having  raised  his 

eyes  or  turned  his  head  at  the  entrance  of 

the  troubadour  or  the  remark  of  MAR- 

GHERITA,  being  absorbed  as  it  were  with 

his  own  thoughts  and  the  wine  before  him. 

Robert,  all  Provence  and  the  Courts  of  Love 

Envy  our  dear  possession.     Hast  thou  heard 

The    chanson     he    composed    in    praise    of 

Beauty? — 
Bring  wine.     And  when  our  Cabestaing  hath 

drunken 
Then  let  him  sing. 

[A  goblet  of  wine  is  brought  by  a  page. 
ROBERT     (patronisingly) :     Thou    hast    no 

equal,  eh? 

The  Ladies,  so  I  hear,  make  much  of  thee. 
CABESTAING  (deliberately  drinking  and  re- 
turning the  goblet  to  the  page) :   Not  of 
the  man  but  of  his  song,  my  Lord. 
ROBERT  (unimpressed  by  the  carelessness  of 
the   reply):    The   singer  only,   eh? — I 
heard  a  song, — 


2OO  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

'T  was  only  yesterday, — that  Agnes  had 
Of  some  mad  jongleur.     Eh? — He  said  't  was 

thine — 

And  written  to  some  Lady — not  so  far — 
AGNES  (with  smiling  but  hurried  interrup- 
tion): As  we  are  from  the  moon! — The 

song  's  a  song, 

And  being  a  good  song  is  to  be  commended. 
I  would  I  had  inspired  it  myself. 
ROBERT   (with  stolid  astonishment):    How 

canst  thou  say  it? — 'T  is  as  full  of  fire 
As  ^Etna  is  of  flame.     (Addressing  himself  to 

CABESTAING)  :    Now  were  it  Agnes, 
To  whom  thou  sang'st  in   such  consuming 

rhymes, 

I  'd  bleed  thee  for  a  fever. 
RAYMOND   (laughing  loudly) :   By  God  and 

Mary! 

Blood-letting  is  not  for  my  troubadour. — 
His  art  's  his  art.     And  only  in  a  song, 
Chanson  or  ballad  or  the  high  aubade, 
Doth  burn  his  passion.     He  is  winter-cold 
At  heart,  I  hear.     Why,   I   could  tell    thee 

tales 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  2OI 

Of  many  slights  he  hath  put  on  great  dames, 
And  damsels,  too,  who  would  be  in  his  fancy. 
I  never ''saw  him  look  at  any  woman, 
Significantly,  save  above  his  lute, 
And  only  as  accompaniment  to  his  song. — 
Is  it  not  so,  my  troubadour? 

CABESTAING:  My  Lord, 

I  know  not  how  to  answer  you.     I  love, 
Whene'er  I  sing  of  love.     Each  maid  I  see 
Hath  some  perfection,  excellence  of  wit, 
Or  form,  or  face,  that  takes  me  by  the  heart 
Compelling  for  the  moment.     Love,  my  Lord, 
Is  necessary  to  the  poet's  art: 
And  he,  to  sing  so  men  will  hark  his  song 
And  hold  it  true,  must  be  in  love  alway: 
It  matters  not  with  whom,  or  one  or  many : 
Love  is  the  first  requirement  of  a  poet. 

M ALAMORT  (with  a  courteous  sneer) :  Reason 
and  thought  are  only  secondary. 

ROBERT  (unimpressed) :  Thou  plead 'st  thy 

cause  quite  badly — for  the  Ladies ; — 
Or  the  one  Lady  whom  thy  heart  holds  dear. 
One  must  there  be  to  hold  thy  singing  true. 
[Turning  to  RAYMOND. 


2O2  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

Too  many  loves,  like  cooks — eh  ?  eh  ?  my  Lord  ? 
RAYMOND    (with  humour) :    There  is  an  old 

saw  that  I  heard  somewhere 
That  says  too  many  are  better  than  none  at 

all. 
ROBERT:  But  't  is  against  all  reason.  Look 

you  now — 
AGNES   (interrupting  him):    Enough!   Too 

much  thou  hast  already  said. 
Thou  hast   confused  him. — See,   his  face   is 

pale. 
Let  him  love  whom  he  will.     Thou  dost  not 

stint 

Thyself  in  loving  other  women  than  me. 
Let  him  love  whom  he  will ;  and  if  he  love 
Well  as  he  sings — his  mistress  hath  my  envy. 
RAYMOND:    'T  is  rightly   said.       All  men 

must  have  their  loves, 
And  women  too.     'T  is  only  justice.     So! 
The  battle  's    ended.       (Turning  to  CABES- 
TAING) :     Let  thy  music  now 
Be  balm   to   all   our  wounds.     Sing  us  thy 

song, 
The  cause  of  this  discussion. 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  203 

MARGHERITA  (anxiously):    Yea;  is  it  new? 
CABESTAING:     'T    is    nothing.     You   will 

smile  at  it,  I  fear. 

It  hath  no  height  of  passion  and  no  depth. 
'T  is  the  mere  froth  of  feeling  from  the  sea 
Of  song  beneath  the  surface  of  my  love. 
(He  addresses  a  page):     Boy,  fetch  me  here 

my  lute. 

ROBERT:  As  Captains  wear  their  swords 
So  shouldst  thou  wear  thy  lute.      'T  is  thy 

great  weapon 

To  mow  down  hearts  of  women.     (Laughing.) 
CABESTAING  (coldly) :      My  lute  's  my  lute; 
My  sword,  as  thou  canst  see,  is  like  to  thine. 
I  am  a  chevalier,  Sir,  and  a  poet. 

RAYMOND:    He  speaks  the  truth,  his  sire 

was  noble  as  mine. 
ROBERT:  Then  I  've  no  more  to  say.     Here 

comes  thy  lute. 

[The  page  returns  with  his  lute  which  he 
hands  to  him.  CABESTAING  seats  himself 
so  as  to  face  the  LADY  MARGHERITA. 
As  he  sings  he  gazes  steadily  into  her 
eyes. 


204  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

What  shall  I  send  thee, 

What  shall  I  tell  thee, 
That  shall  unbend  thee, 

That  shall  compel  thee  ? 

Love,  that  shall  fold  thee, 

So  naught  can  sever: 
Truth,  that  shall  hold  thee 

Ever  and  ever. — 

What  shall  I  do  then 

So  thou  'It  not  grieve  me, 

Keeping  thee  true  then, 
Never  wilt  leave  me  ? 

I  '11  lay  before  thee, 

There  in  thy  bower, 
Aye  to  adore  thee, 

My  heart,  like  a  flower. 

MARGHERITA    (rising  in  agitation):    Well 
hast  thou  sung.     Thy  song  is  worth  a 
heart ; 
The  heart  of  any  woman. 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  2O$ 

RAYMOND:  'T  is  full  of  fire. 

A  song  to  win  a  woman. 

ROBERT:  Ay;  perhaps 

Win  two  or  three. 
MARGHERITA    (standing,  uncertain  what  to 

say  or  do) :  I  am  right  weary. 
AGNES  :  Well ; 

We  will  retire :  I  am  weary  too. 
We  rode  all  day,  Fatigue  was  of  our  train 
From  morning. 

ROBERT  (significantly) :  Raymond,  I  would 

speak  with  thee 
On  private  matters.       There    is    much    to 

say.— 

And,  as  thou  knowest,  we  depart  at  dawn. 
RAYMOND      (good-humouredly) :      Business 
should  wait  till  pleasure  have  an  end, 
And  should,  in  brief,  be  brief,  whatever  it  is. 
But  as  our  wives  are  fearful  of  offending, 
And  will  not  leave  without  us  (he  speaks  with 

irony) ,  being  weary, 

There  's  nothing  left  us  but  to  be  excused. 
[Rising,  he  proceeds  to  CABESTAING  who 
rises  as  do  all  the  others.   RAYMOND  lets 


2O6  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

his  hand  fall  heavily  upon  CABESTAING'S 
shoulder  as  he  speaks. 
By  Mary!  them  shalt  sing  for  us  again. 
Such  songs  as  thine  are  heard  once  in  a  life- 
time. 
Be  careful  of  thy  lute  as  of  thy  heart. 

CABESTAING    (smiling    softly,    and    gazing 
steadily  before  him) :   Both  heart   and 
lute  are  sound,  my  Lord,  and  safe. 
[RAYMOND  and  ROBERT  leave  with  atten- 
dants by  doorway  left. 
MARGHERITA    (imperiously):   Come,    Cabe- 

staing,  attend  us  to  our  rooms. 
CABESTAING:   I   am    thy  servant.   (Aside) 

Dost  thou  think  me  bold  ? 
MARGHERITA  (aside) :    Come  to  the  window 

with  the  balcony, 

That  looks  upon  the  upper  terrace :  there 
I  will  await  thee.  (Aloud)  Agnes,  shall  we  go? 
AGNES  (who  has  been  conversing  with  the 
others):  The   Ladies,  Ermengard  and 
Beatrix 
Have  talked  my  weariness  away. 

BEATRIX  (laughing) :  Not  I. 


SC.  I  CABESTAING  2O/ 

'T  was  M alamort,  with  his  civilities. 

[MARGHERITA,  AGNES,  and  CABESTAING 

go  out  through  doorway  to  the  right. 
BEATRIX  (eagerly,  as  soon  as  the  door  has 
closed  upon  them):    Didst    mark   his 
eyes? 
ERMENGARD:     Canst  ask? — They  were  two 

stars 
Shaping  the  destiny  of  two  who  love. 

MALAMORT:  They  were  two  tarns  whereover 

tempest  drives, 
And  in  whose  deeps  enchantment   sleeps  for 

ever. 
AUBERT:  And  hers  were  wild  lights  on  the 

mountain  heights, 
Whose   fires  proclaim  rebellion.      They  are 

lost. 
GIRAUD:  His  eyes  looked  into  hers  as  no 

man's  look 

Into  a  woman's  whom  he  doth  not  love. 
ERMENGARD:     Sir     Matter-of-Fact !     thou 

putt'st  it  in  blunt  words. — 
He  looked  at  her,  therefore  she  needs  must 
look, 


208  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

From  courtesy,  at  him. 

BEATRIX  (scornfully):   She  could  not  help 

it?— 

No  more  could  I. 
ERMENGARD  (sharply) :  His  eyes  were  not 

for  thee, 

Nor  any  woman,  except  the  one  he  loves. 
M ALAMORT  (provokingly) :  Into  her  eyes  he 

poured  his  soul  in  music. 
BEATRIX  (in  a  rage):  Her  eyes!  his  eyes! 

— The  Devil  take  their  eyes! — 
Why,  I  '11  turn  jongleur  just  to  sing  of  eyes. — 
His  eyes!  her  eyes! — God  send  them  both  a 

squint ! 

ERMENGARD:  Now  thou  art  angry: 
BEATRIX:  Nay.    A  little  weary. 

AUBERT:  Wilt  come  into  the  garden  with 

me? 

BEATRIX:  No! 

I  care  not  for  the  nightingale  and  moon. 
ERMENGARD  (to  AUBERT)  :  I  '11  go  with  thee 

if  our  wise  friend,  Giraud, 
Will  make  our  company  three. 

GIRAUD  (hesitating) :          I  am  not  wanted; 


sc.  I  CABESTAING  2OQ 

That 's  plain.      But  thou  hast  asked  me,  so, 

't  is  plain, 

I  '11  go  where  I  am  asked.     Bid  you  good- 
night. 

[ERMENGARD,  AUBERT,  and  GIRAUD  go  out- 
MALAMORT     (confidently):      The    loveliest 

woman,  worthiest  of  his  song, 
Is  she  into  whose  eyes  I  'm  looking  now. 
BEATRIX    (incredulously;    laughing    scorn- 
fully): Rank  flattery!— Thy  speech  is 
full  of  words 

That  poison  women's  souls.     I  am  no  fool. 
MALAMORT:  I  know  what  beauty  is. 
BEATRIX  (sarcastically):        A  connoisseur? 
MALAMORT:  I  '11  prove  my  point  by  a  com- 
parison : 
Now    take    thy    mouth    and     Margherita's 

mouth : — 

The  Cupid-bow  perfection  of  thy  lips, 
The  rosebud  redness — hath  hers  aught  of  these  ? 
Her  hand  now:  true,  't  is  long,  and  white  and 

shapely; 

But  plumpness,  smallness,  take  my  heart  by 
storm — 
14 


210  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

And  thine  is  plump  and  small. — Come,  let  me 

hold  it.— 

[Takes  her  hand  which  she  yields  reluct- 
antly. 

Not  cold  like  Margherita's.     And  thy  cheek — 
Thou  hast  a  dimple  there :  a  darling  pit-fall 
To  catch  men's  hearts  in.     A  sweet  trap  for 

kisses. 

[Kisses  her  deliberately.      She  disengages 
herself  swiftly,  starting  back  with  pre- 
tended fury. 
BEATRIX:    Why  didst  thou  that?— Had  I  a 

dagger  now 

I  'd  mark  upon  thy  evil  face  the  beast 
That  is  thy  soul,  so  never  woman  more 
Would  look  on  thee  and  be  beguiled. 

MALAMORT  (coolly):  I  love  thee. 

I  love  thee.     Dost  thou  doubt  it?     Look  at 

me. 

I  am  no  troubadour  to  sing  thy  praise, 
Or  curve  my  eyebrows  at  thee  o'er  a  lute. 
I  am  a  man,  a  knight,  a  chevalier, 
Who  loves  thee   better  than    he   loves    his 
life. 


SC.  I  CABESTAING  211 

BEATRIX  (yieldingly) :  Rhymers  are  not  for 

me,  but  warriors  are. — 

When  thou  hast  fought  a  battle  for  me,  then 
Come  to  me  and  demand — what  I  can  give. 
MALAMORT:  Bid  me  to  battle  now.     I  fain 

would  fight. 
BEATRIX  (impetuously) :  I  hate  this  Cabe- 

staing.     I  'd  have  him  die. — 
He  had  my  love  once — thou  should 'st  know  it. 
MALAMORT  (slowly,  gazing  steadily  at  her) : 

Yea. 

I  knew  of  it.     He  cast  thy  love  aside. 
BEATRIX  (fiercely) :  Like  a  great  gentleman. 

— The  wretched  pauper! 

I  was  not  good  enough  for  him. — I  hate  him! 
Hate  him!  Oh,  God  in  Heaven,  how  I  hate 

him  now ! — 
[Lowering  her   voice   and  speaking  with 

malignancy . 

Look  thou ! — Go  to  the  Baron :  tell  him  all 
Thou  knowest;  all,  and  more  thou  dost  not 

know, 

Of  what  is  seen  and  said  of  Cabestaing 
And  Margherita. — Leave  no  thing  unsaid. 


212  CABESTAING  ACT   I 

Tell  it  with  smiles  and  shrugs  as  something 

vile, 

Notorious,  in  his  castle.     Look  such  things 
As   shall   imply  more  than  the  words  thou 

say'st. 

Put  poison  in  his  heart's  security. 
Thou  ait  a  trusted  servant  ;  't  will  be  easy. 
When  thou  hast  done  this,  and  thy  words  bear 

fruit, 
Then  come  to  me  and  ask — whatever  thou 

wilt. 
MALAMORT     (with     conviction):    By    God! 

thou  lov'st  this  Cabestaing! 
BEATRIX  (with  intensity):  I  hate  him. 

And  he  must  die,  so  that  my  soul  have  peace. 
MALAMORT    (taking   her  by  the  arms  and 
looking  steadily  into  her  eyes) :  Thou  'It 
keep  thy  word  ? 
BEATRIX  (unflinchingly) :  I  never  break  my 

word. 

[MALAMORT  goes  out  left,  facing  towards 
BEATRIX,  who  stands  a  moment  as  if 
transfixed  in  thought  and  then  goes  out 
slowly  through  door  to  right. 


SCENE    n 

The  same  as  the  preceding.  Only  the  table  has 
been  removed  from  centre  and  the  chairs  ar- 
ranged differently,  showing  skins  of  various 
wild  beasts  here  and  there  about  the  floor. 
Enter  RAYMOND  and  ROBERT  of  Tarascon. 

RAYMOND  (angrily):  Thou   art  her  sister's 

husband.     Wherefore  now 
Thou  sayest  such  things  to  me  at  such  a  time 
Escapes  my  understanding. 

ROBERT:  Thy  eyes  are  seeled, 

Like  some  wild  haggard's  in  thy  mews.      My 

Lord, 

Thy  troubadour  needs  watching.      As  I  said, 
The     weather-vane     o'    his     heart     points 

Margherita, 

As  did  his  eyes  and  song  a  moment  ago.  .  .  . 
There  was  direction  and  a  fire  in  them 

Most  unmistakable. 

213 


214  CABESTA1NG  ACT  II 

RAYMOND  :  I  drank  my  wine, 

And  thought  my  thoughts.     What  cared   I 

where  he  looked! — 

I  mark  not  every  glance  cast  at  my  wife. — 
God's  blood!    I  should  be  busy. — Cabestaing 
I  'd  trust  as  men  trust  children — as  my  son. 
There  is  no  harm  in  him ;  he  is  a  poet : 
Why,  Margherita  loves  me;  would  not  lift 
Her  eyes  to  his  except  in  innocence. 
I  know  them  both ;  they  are  a  pair  of  children. 
ROBERT  (bitterly) :  A  pair  of  children!  Child 

thou  art  to  say  so ! — 

Thou  knowest  nothing  of  the  hearts  of  men — 
Or  women.     Bah !  the  thing  is  evident. 
Look  to  it  ere  thou  lose  thy  Margherita. — 
I  trust  no  troubadour  with  any  woman. 
RAYMOND:  Blind  fool  I  may  be;  but,  by 

God  and  Mary! 

Suspicion  never  harboured  in  my  heart 
Of  any  smile,  or  glance,  between  these  two. 
Thou  mak'st  me  think  now. — But  why  wake 

a  snake 
To  gnaw  me  here  ? 

ROBERT  :     I  would  not  have  thee  whispered 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  21$ 

And  spoken  as  a  cuckold. — I,  thy  brother, 
Would  guard  the  good  name  of  thy  House, 

whereto 

My  honour  appertains.     I  like  not  scandal. 
RAYMOND:  Where  could  he  look  but  at  her  f 

All  men  look 

At  Margherita.     Nay;  't  was  courtesy: 
I  say  't  was  courtesy. — But  I  '11  look  to  't 
As  thou  advisest;  and,  if  true,  God  help, 
Assoil  him  and  the  woman  I  call  wife ! — 
Your  words  have  waked  a  devil  in  my  heart, 
This  heart  on  which  she  oft  hath  lain  and 

dreamed. 

ROBERT:  No  troubadour  do  I  trust.    Seduc- 
tion leers 

From   all   their   songs  at    every  maid    and 
woman. 

[Enter  MALAMORT  smiling  sinisterly. 
Here  comes  Sir  Malamort.     His  face  portends 
Some  news  of  moment. 

RAYMOND:  How  now,  Malamort? 

What  means  thy  smile  ?     What  evil  lies  be- 
hind it?— 
Thou  stealest  in  like  Midnight  with  a  dagger. 


2l6  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

Whom  wilt  thou  stab? 

M ALAMORT  (mysteriously}'.   A  song-bird  in 

the  garden. 

That  is  to  say,  a  man  beneath  a  window: 
A  sighing  lover  with  a  tinkling  lute. 

ROBERT  (with  a  quizzical  smile  at  RAY- 
MOND): Not  thy  good  troubadour,  my 
Lord? 

MALAMORT  (darkly) :  Perhaps. 

RAYMOND  (with  suppressed  fury) :  Whose 
window  ?  Speak ! — And  who  was  at  the 
window? 

MALAMORT  (with  assumed  perplexity) :  I  can 
not  say,  my  Lord.     So  many  windows 
Look  out  upon  that  terrace. 

RAYMOND  (with  concentrated  purpose) :  Was 

it  one 
That  's  balconied?  a   casement  railed  with 

stone, 

That  faces  towards  the  terrace  with  the  foun- 
tain? 
MALAMORT  (without  hesitation) :   The  same, 

my  Lord.     And  from  the  balcony 
A  lady  leaned.     A  scarf  concealed  her  face. — 


sc.  ii  CABESTAING  21? 

The  stone  whereon  she  leaned,  warmed  into 

white, 

Took  on  a  new  effulgence  from  her  breast. 
I  seemed  to  hear  the  beating  of  her  heart, — 
And  feel  the  ardor  of  her  passionate  eyes. 
ROBERT  (with  emphasised  interest) :    Was  it 

the  Lady  Agnes?     Like  as  not! — 
She  has  a  scarf  of  silk. — Her  window  's  railed, 
And  overlooks  the  fountain.  By  my  sword! — 
She  too  hath  hankerings  for  these  nightin- 
gales ! 

'T  is  in  the  blood  of  women. 
RAYMOND  (with  absolute  conviction) :  Taras- 

con, 

'T  was  not  thy  Agnes  but  my  Margherita. — 
Blind  have  I  been !  Oh ,  what  a  purblind  fool ! — 
If  this  be  true,  I  '11  act;  and  instantly. 

ROBERT    (in   a    conciliatory    tone):    Yea; 

swiftly.    Send  the  fellow  off  to-night. — 
As  I  have  said,  I  would  not  have  them  round 

me, 
These  makers  of  bad  rhymes.    For,  look  you, 

women 
Are  three  fourths  fool  at  any  and  all  times; 


218  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

And  when  rhyme  knocks  and  music  jingles, 

why, 

Farewell  discretion ! — kiss  the  rest  good-bye, 
A  poet  is  bell-wether  to  their  natures, 
That  flock  to  follow,  like  a  lot  of  sheep, — 
Be  it  to  pasture  or  a  precipice, 
Whene'er    he    tinkles. — Would    their  heads 

were  one, — 
I  mean  the  poets', — so  one  blow  might  end 

them! 

RAYMOND  (to  MALAMORT)  :  Under  the  bal- 
cony?— And  didst  thou  hear 
The  words  they  said? 

MALAMORT:  My  Lord,  I  was  not  near. 
I  heard  a  lute,  a  sigh.     The  bird  took  fright 
Whenas  he  saw  me  coming.      Disappeared, — 
Like  a  great  cockchafer  a  foot  disturbs, — 
Among  the  roses  underneath  the  wall. 
The  Lady  glimmered  moth -like  and  was  gone. 
RAYMOND  (black  with  rage) :  Thy  eyes  must 

to  the  doctor!  what,  by  Heaven! 
Sent  thee  to  me  then  with  thy  devil's  smile  ? — 
Thou  slay'st  my  soul  with  thy  dark  words  and 
hints 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  2\g 

Of  what    thou    heard 'st   and    heard 'st   not, 

saw'st  and  saw'st  not! — 
Proof  must  I  have!  yea,  proof! — These  eyes 

must  see! 
These  ears  must  hear!    visible   and   audible 

proof! — 
Come  with  me.     Come;    I  '11  search  the  walks 

and  garden. 

If  he  be  there,  innocent  or  guilty,  he 
Shall  give  account  to  this  (touching  his  sword] 

my  good  Toledo ! 
ROBERT  (with  satisfaction  as  they  turn  to  go 

out): 
Thou  hast  been  blind.     How  couldst  thou  be 

so  fooled? 

Make  good  use  of  thine  eyes  now.     It  is  night, 
And  in  the  night  are  many  hiding  places. 

[RAYMOND,  ROBERT,  and  MALAMORT  £ass 

out  right.     After  an  interval  enter  on  the 

left  MARGHERITA  and  AGNES. 
AGNES  (fearfully):   He  loves  thee.     Oh,  I 

saw;  and  others  saw. 

And  thou,  thou  lovest  him.     I  saw  that  too. 
Oh,  be  thou  careful  of  this! — Men  are  beasts 


220  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

When  jealousy  puts  poison  in  their  veins. 

No  serpent  spawned  of  Hell  is  fiercer.    Trust 
me! 

I  am  thy  sister,  let  me  counsel  thee. — 

Contrive   some   good  excuse   and  send    this 
singer, 

Before  it  is  too  late  and  Raymond  knows, 

To  Avignon,  or  Paris;  anywhere. 

MARGHERITA  (calmly) :  I  could  not  live  with- 
out him:  would  not  live. 

Existence  lies  for  me  in  him  alone. — 

Thou  canst  not  understand — thou  dost  not 
know! — 

His  life  is  mine  as  mine  is  his. — No,  no ! 

Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  separate  soul  and 
body? 

He  is  my  soul.     I  can  not  part  from  him. 
AGNES  :  If  this  be  so,  God  help  you  both ! 
MARGHERITA:  Amen! — 

He  loves  me. — Countess  that  I  am,  and  wife 

Of  Raymond,  Lord  of  Roussillon,  I  'd  cast 

Nobility  aside,  as  one  casts  gauds, 

And  follow  Cabestaing  through  all  the  world, 

And  be  his  glee-girl,  live  the  vagabond  life 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  221 

Of  crusts  and  kisses,  if  he  ask  it  me. 

Life  hath  naught  greater  than  his  love  to  give. 

AGNES:  I  never  loved  like  that.     Propriety 
With  stately  steps,  trailing  a  stiff  brocade, 
Hath  ever  kept  my  house ;  yet  she  shall  shield 
Thee  and  thy  lover  when  there  comes  the 

need. 

No  man,  except  my  husband,  have  I  loved, 
Or  dreamed  of  loving.     Though  some  have 

besieged 

My  heart  with  vows,  its  stalwart  battlements 
They  never  won  above.    (Meditatively):  I  will 

not  say 

A  troubadour  tongue,  like  that  of  Cabestaing's, 
Might  not  win  o'er  its  fortress  if  it  tried, 
So  full  of  irresistible  assault 
Are  all  his  songs — and  song  is  sweet  to  me. 

MARGHERITA:  All  that  I  am  is  his.     I  feel 

no  shame 

When  in  his  arms,  his  kisses  on  my  lips. 
I  know  I  sin.     My  soul,  perhaps,  is  lost. 
But  Heaven  hath  naught  of  happiness  to  give 
Greater  than  this.     If  punishment  must  come 
Hereafter,  I,  at  least,  a  little  while 


222  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

Have  been  in  Paradise. 

AGNES:  May  Heaven  be  thine! — 

But  dost  thou  have  no  dread  of  what  may 

come 
Of  this  too  evident  passion  ? 

MARGHERITA:  My  one  fear 

Is  for  his  safety.     His. — What   harm  may 

come 
To  me  I  care  not.     Never  think  of  it. 

AGNES  :  But  thou  shouldst  think  of  it.    Just 

now  he  stood 

Openly  within  the  moonlight,  on  the  terrace, 
Beneath  thy  balcony  that  neighbours  mine. 
I  heard  his  words. — Therefore  I  came  to  thee, 
And  brought  thee  hither,  for,  scarce  had  he 

gone, 

When  shadows  searched  the  place  with  weap- 
ons drawn. 

Thy  husband  and  another,  I  divine. — 
Had  they  come  sooner,  caught  thy  song-bird 

there, 
Sighing  to   thee,  such    strains  of  passionate 

love, 
I  shudder  now  to  think  what  had  befallen. 


sc   II  CABESTAING  223 

MARGHERITA  (surprised  and  agitated) :  Ray- 
mond out  there  ? — I  deemed  him  clos- 
eted 

With    thy  good   Robert,   on   some   weighty 
matter. 

I   would  breathe  easier  were    my  husband 
gone. — 

Canst  thou  contrive  some  plan  to  take  him 
hence, 

But  for  a  day? — better  for  three  days,  though. 

I  would  have  one  day  free  of  fear  to  think, 

To  dream  some  plan  out  with  the  one  I  love. 
AGNES  (thoughtfully) :  I  can  devise  no  way. 
— There  is  a  boar, 

So  runs  report  among  the  peasantry, — 

We  heard  it  but  to-day  when  riding  hither, — 

A  wild  boar,  that  has  harried  half  the  hills, 

And  filled  the  roads  with  terror.     An  excuse 

To  bid  him  to  the  hunting. 

MARGHERITA  (musingly) :     That  may  do. — 

Thou  say'st  the  boar  is  savage? 

AGNES  :  As  the  hills. 

And  tusked  like  Satan.— Why,  'tis  said  six 
men, 


224  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

Who  went  to  slay  him,  he  hath  slain. 

MARGHERITA  (with  resolution) :     'T  would 

do.— 
Six  men?  and   Raymond 's  one,  and  hunts 

alone. — 

What  if  the  monster  took  him  by  surprise  ? 
AGNES:    Why  speak'st  thou  thus?      Why 

starest  thou  at  naught? — 
He  would  not    need    confessor    then! — but 

thou — 
Thou    surely   wouldst. — Come;    leave    dark 

thoughts  like  these, 

That  lead  to  dreadful  cellars  of  the  soul. — 
I  must  retire. — Thou  wilt  not  still  remain? 
MARGHERITA  (abstractedly) :  I  11  follow  soon. 

I  would  remain  awhile. 
I  but  await  the  coming  here  of  Raymond ; 
I  would  consult  with  him  about  this  boar — 
It  must  be  slain,  abolished. — 

[AGNES  gazes  at  her  sadly  and  retires. 
Huge  and  wild. — 

Now  could  I  play  upon  his  pride  and  courage 
So   he    would   hunt    this    monster    without 
hounds, 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  22$ 

And  by  himself! — and,  say,  upon  a  wager! 
The  beast  is  more  than  any  one  man's  match, 
Though  that  man,  Raymond,  Lord  of  Rous- 

sillon ; 

Then  might  there  be  an  end  to  all  this  fear, 
That,  like  a  dagger,  threatens  everywhere, 
Pointed  from  every  corner  at  my  heart, 
And  Cabestaing's — 

[CABESTAING  enters  silently. 

CABESTAING:       A  spirit  spoke  my  name! — 

Oh,  it  is  thou!  (embracing  her)   and  lost  in 

meditation ! 

I  thought  the  castle  slept;  all  had  retired. 
MARGHERITA:     My  happiness,  importunate 

as  a  page, 
Kept  knocking  at  my  heart's   door,  and   I 

rose. — 

Only  we  two  and  our  deep  love  awake. — 
What  led  thy  wild  heart  here  at  such  an  hour? 
CABESTAING:    I   wandered    restless   till    a 

vision  called, 

That  had  thy  voice,  and  to  this  Hall  I  came 
To  sing  a  new  song  to  the  spirit  of  beauty, 
And  the  imagined  presence  of  my  love, — 

IS 


226  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

That  walks  here  nightly  with  the  moon  and 

stars 
Attendant  on  my  fancy. 

MARGHERITA:  I  am  glad. 

I  have  not  heard  thy  voice,  it  seems,  for  days. 
Albeit  but  an  hour  ago  thou  stood' st 
Speaking  beneath  my  balcony. — Take  care. — 
The  garden  hath  assassins,  so  I  hear, 
Who  watch  my  windows ;  watch  with  daggers 

drawn. 
CABESTAING  (smiling) :    I  saw  them.     I  was 

hidden  where  the  yews 
Cast  a  deep  shadow  on  a  world  of  roses. 
I   should  have  faced  them — with  my  sword  ? 

or  lute? — 

[Laughing. 
Which,  dost  thou  think? — It  was  not  brave 

of  me. 
But  there  I  lay.     And  they  passed  through 

the  postern, 

Searching  the  mews  and  kennels  I  suppose. — 
I  waited  their  return.     They  did  not  come. 
But  while  I  waited  petals  of  the  rose 
Rained  on  my  hair  and  eyes :  a  nightingale 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  22? 

Lit  near  me,  nearer  than  thou  standest  there, 
And  sang  its  song  of  triumph.  'T  was  a  sign 
That  Love  had  me  in  ward.  Naught  now 

could  harm  me, 

Or  thee,  belove'd.     So  I  set  my  thought 
To  the  wild  music  of  the  nightingale, 
And  made  a  song  for  thee.     I  have  it  here; 

[Striking  his  brow  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
And  came  to  try  it  in  the  silent  Hall — 
And  find  an  audience. 

MARGHERITA  (gazing  at  him  with  fascinated 

eyes) :  Meaning  Love  and  me. 

Yea,  we  be  fain  to  hear  how  this  same  bird 
Inspired  thy  soul. 

CABESTAING  (taking  both  her  hands  in  his 

and  kissing  them) :    I  have  no  memory 
For  all  the  songs  I  make  to  thee.     No  book 
Would  hold  them.     They  are  like  the  birds 

that  sing 

And  fly  and  sing  again.     Ever  within  me  is 
The  throbbing  of  their  happiness,  like  wings; 
And  all  their  words  are  music  made  of  thee. 
They  utter  all  that  moonlight  says  to  flowers, 
That  fragrance  syllables  to  dusk  and  dew, 


228  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

And  starlight  to  still  waters:  all,  and  more: 
Such  things  as  find  expression  in  the  soul, 
Impossible  to  language,  say  in  words. 
Inadequate  is  speech  when  Love  would  speak 
Praise  of  its  object,  of  the  one  beloved. 
Therefore  the  song  I  made  there  can  portray 
A  moiety  only  of  the  thing  I  felt. 
Authentic  words   should   flow.      Each    stop 

should  be 
A  heart-beat  set  to  music. 

MARGHERITA  (rapturously) :  Let  me  judge. — 
A  little  would  I  learn  of  what  is  writ 
In   flame    within    the    great    book    of    thy 

heart. 

While  they  have  been  speaking  ike  torches 
in  the  sconces  have  gradually  died  down 
or  expired,  until  the  great  Hall  is  almost 
lost  in  shadow,  save  for  the  light  of  the 
moon  that  streams  through  the  arches  of 
the  balconied  casement  overbrowing  the 
precipice.  MARGHERITA  seats  herself  on 
a  carven  chair  in  the  moonlight.  CA- 
BESTAING, lute  in  hand,  reclines  on  a 
wolf -skin  at  her  feet.  As  he  sings,  ac- 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  229 

companying  himself  on  the  lute,  the 
door  to  the  right,  farthest  from  them, 
slowly  opens,  and  LORD  RAYMOND,  un- 
observed of  them,  enters  and  stands 
listening  until  the  end  of  the  song; 
only  making  his  presence  known  when 
it  is  completed. 
CABESTAING  (sings'): 

Lo,  as  I  wandered  one  day, 

Wandered  forlorn ; 
There  in  the  thorns  of  my  way, 
White  as  a  cluster  of  May, 
Love,  with  a  face  like  the  morn, 

Laughed  and  was  born. 

Swift  to  her  side  were  my  feet, 

Swift  to  her  side ; 
Sweet  were  her  kisses  and  sweet, 
Heart  unto  heart,  was  the  beat, 
Rapture  of  passion  that  cried, 

"Love  will  abide." 

MARGHERITA  (starting  up,  utterly  bewil- 
dered, as  she  perceives  RAYMOND)  :  Thy 
song  has  other  audience  than  I. 


230  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

The  Lord  of  Roussillon  is  here  to  judge. 
CABESTAING  (concealing  his  confusion  under 
a  stately  demeanour) :    Not  wrongly,  let 
us  hope,  though  he  have  cause — 
Seeing  the  setting  we  have  given  our  piece : 
Moonlight  and  shadow  and  an  empty  Hall. 
RAYMOND     (grimly,   striding  forward    and 
standing  lowering  before  them) :    Thou 
art  an  artist  in  more  ways  than  one. 
Me  thinks  thou  sing'st  too  often  and  too  well. 
CABESTAING     (haughtily) :     Being  the  trou- 
badour of  Roussillon, 
I  could  not  be  a  miser  of  my  art 
Or  sing  less  well,  my  Lord. 

RAYMOND     (smiling  fiercely) :  Thou  art  too 

prompt 
With  haughty  answers.   Praise  has  made  thee 

proud, 

And  evermore  thy  fustian  struts  in  velvet 
Fingering  a  sword.    Strip  from  it  now  its  mask 
Of  courtier  speech,  and  tell  me  in  plain  words 
To  whom  this  song  was  written. 

CABESTAING  (pale  with  suppressed  emotion) : 

If  my  Lady 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  231 

Command  me  tell  thee — I  shall  speak  plain 

words. 
MARGHERITA     (hastily  interrupting,  having 

recovered    herself    completely] :     Plain 

words,  my  Lord? — Here  is  no  barrister 
To  tell  thee  plainly  what  thy  wife  can  tell : 
The  song  is  for  my  sister,  Agnes.     She 
Requested  it  of  Cabestaing  through  me 
To-night,  at  table :  't  is  a  simple  love-song, 
A  ballad  for  her  lute,  that  she  loves  well, 
As  surely  thou  dost  know  who  often  here, 
And  there  at  Tarascon,  hast  heard  her  play. 
Why,    many   a    troubadour    has   made   her 

rhymes; 

These  are  the  first  that  Cabestaing  hath  made. 
RAYMOND    (harshly) :    If  these  be  made  for 

her,  I  '11  say  no  more. 
Her  husband  shall  correct   them.     (Smiling 

grimly,  he  goes  to   the  door,    left,    and 

calls  loudly) :    Ho !  a  page ! 
[Enter  a  page  and  attendants  with  torches 

with  which  they  replenish  the  sconces. 
Go  thou  and  bid  the  Lord  of  Tarascon 
And  Lady  Agnes  hither.     If  retired, 


232  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

Bid  them  arise  and  robe  and  come  to  me. 
The  matter  now  in  hand  brooks  no  delay. 
[Page  bows  and  goes  out  followed  by  at- 
tendants. 

If  it  be  true  he  made  this  song  for  her, 
Why  does  he  sing  it  thee  ?  And  here,  when  sleep 
Woos  every  eyelid  in  these  towers?     Ay,  here, 
In  darkness  and  alone  ? 
MARGHERITA    (rapidly,  in  scornful  explana- 
tion) :    He  'd  have  me  hear  it, 
Ere  Agnes  heard,  for  fear  of  any  flaws. 
My  ear  is  quick  for  such,  or  so  he  thinks. 
And  for  the  place  and  time — What  other  place 
Within  the  castle  is  more  public? — Here 
Upon  its  various  duties  at  all  hours 
Attendance  goes.     Thou  earnest  even  as  I, 
Or  Cabestaing,  or  any  person  else. 
As  for  the  darkness,  why,  we  quenched   no 

torch. 

'T  is  darker  in  the  rose-walks  of  the  garden. — 
Ah,  hadst  thou  found  him  singing  to  me  there, 
Wilt  not  confess  Suspicion  then  had  sprung 
Snake-headed  in  thy  heart,  even  more  than 
now, 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  2$$ 

And  hissed  thee  to  some  deed  thou  would st 

regret  ? 

Yet  in  the  garden,  often,  as  thou  knowest, 
This  man  has  sung  to  me,  't  is  true,  thou  by, 
At  later  hours  than  this. — By  God  in  Heaven ! 
Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  have  him  to  my 

chamber 
To  sing  it  me  ? 

RAYMOND     (gazing  steadily  at  her  with  sus- 
picious eyes) :  Thou  hast  a  lawyer's  wit. 
Well  may  it  serve  thee  when  there  comes  a 
time.  [Turning  to  CABESTAING 

Thou  singest  often  in  the  garden,  eh? 
Beneath  a  certain  balcony  and  window. 
CABESTAING     (with  quiet   candour):    Yea; 

in  the  garden  often  do  I  sing. 
There  is  a  bench  of  marble  'neath  a  window, 
That  hath  a  balcony,  if  I  remember, 
On  which  I  sit  and  muse  and  sing.     It  looks 
Upon  the  fountain  from  the  upper  terrace. 
The  prospect  has  endeared  itself  to  me : 
'T  is  quiet  and  most  perfect. 
RAYMOND  (with  sarcastic  rage) :    Quiet  and 
perfect  ? — Ay ! 


234  CABESTA1NG  ACT  n 

As  is  the  woman  in  the  room  above 
Who  hearkens  to  thy  singing. — I  have  heard. 
[Enter  ROBERT  and  AGNES   preceded  by 

the  page,  who  retires. 
ROBERT:    What  means  thy  message,  Rous- 

sillon!— Art  ill?— 

God's  life !  I  was  retired !    Why  have  me  up ! — 
RAYMOND  (with  irony) :    I  had  thee  out  of 

bed  to  hear  a  song. 

ROBERT  (with  ludicrous  astonishment) : 
What!  art  thou  crazy? — Song? — The 
man  is  mad. — 

Mad !  mad !  completely.    So  these  troubadours 
Have  crazed  thy  mind  at  last? 

AGNES:  What  does  this  mean? 

RAYMOND     (with  dark  directness):     I  am 
not  mad,  though  you  might  deem  me  so 
By  what  appears  to  you  unreasonable. 
My  action  seems  preposterous  I  know, 
But  you  will  understand  when  I  explain. — 
This,  as  you  know,  is  Cabestaing;  and  this, 

[With  a  sweeping  gesture 

Countess  of  Roussillon,  the  Lady  Margherita. 
I  find  them  here,  when  all  the  castle  sleeps, 


sc.  ii  CABESTAING  2$$ 

Rehearsing  love-songs  written,  so  they  say, 
For   thy   true    wife,  Lord  Robert.     (With  a 

sneer) :     Wouldst  thou  hear 
The  song  that  panged  the  darkness  here  awhile 
Before  I  summoned  you?     For  true  effect 
The  torches  should  be  quenched;  the  two  alone. 
ROBERT  (with  amazement) :  A  love-song  to 

my  wife? — I  '11  have  his  heart! 
RAYMOND    (interfering  as  ROBERT  makes  a 
movement  towards  CABESTAING)  :  Thou 
hast  no  sword.       (Laughing    bitterly): 
'T  is,  haply,  in  thy  chamber.— 
Let  Agnes  speak. — What  hast  thou  then  to  say? 
My  wife  hath  told  me  thou  didst  order  a  song 
Of  Cabestaing,  to  sing  upon  a  lute. 

AGNES  (somewhat  bewildered  but  grasping  the 
situation.  Naively  to  CABESTAING)  :  Oh, 
thou  hast  written  it?  'Twas  kind  of 
thee. 

When  I  have  heard  it  I  am  sure  to  love 

ROBERT  (violently) :  The  song  or  singer? — 

Speak  more  plainly,  madame. 
AGNES  (with  asperity) :  The  song,  my  Lord. — 
What     else?      (Turning   smilingly    to 


236  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

CABESTAING)  :    Thou  It  write  it  out 
And  with  the  music  give  it  me  to-morrow? 
We  ride  betimes.     Lie  not  too  late  abed. 
I  '11  learn  it  while  we  travel.     Robert  here 
Shall  praise  it — though  he  is  a  crusty  critic. 
ROBERT:  When  aught  of  his  wins  praise  of 

mine  may  Deafness 

Make  fast  the  portals  of  my  ears  and  Dumb- 
ness 
Tie  up  my  tongue. 

CABESTAING  (imperturbably  to  AGNES):  I  '11 

have  the  music  ready, 
And  give  it  in  thy  hand  at  break  of  day. 
ROBERT    (with  disgust  to  RAYMOND)  :  And 
thou  didst  have  us  out  of  bed  for  this ! 
RAYMOND  (significantly) :  If,  as  thy  wife  has 

said,  the  song  was  writ 
At  her  request,  I  have  no  more  to  say 
To  thee  or  her.     I  beg  your  good  indulgence. 
You  may  retire.     Robert,  look  to  thy  wife. 
ROBERT  :  She  shall  not  hoodwink  me.    Have 

thou  no  fear. 
Come,  madame,  we  '11  to  bed. 

AGNES  (taking  the  hands  of  MARGHERITA 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  237 

impulsively  into  her  own) :  'T  was  good 

of  thee.     (Then  whispering  asidebefore 

she  and  ROBERT  go) : 
I  did  the  best  I  knew.     Oh,  have  a  care. 

[AGNES  and  ROBERT  go  out. 
MARGHERITA  (fiercely  to  RAYMOND):     Art 

satisfied? 

RAYMOND:  Perplexed,  not  satisfied. 

Suspicion  holds  me   still.     That   song,  't  is 

certain, 

Was  never  written  for  thy  sister  Agnes, 
Albeit  she  took  it;  acting  well  her  part. 
I  '11  have  no  intrigues  here  (with  imperative 

intensity) :     I  'd  have  thee  travel, 
Sir  Cabestaing.     The  air  of  Roussillon 
Breeds    pestilence     for    poets.       Take   thy 

steed, 

Thy  lute,  and  thy  apparel  and  ride  forth, 
At  daybreak,  with  Lord  Robert  if  thou  will, 
Or  if  he  will  permit  thee.     Never  again 
Let  me  behold  thy  face.     Thy  songs  work 

sickness 
Among  my  household.      Plagues  should   be 

destroyed. 


238  CABESTAING 


ACT  II 


CABESTAING  (with  emotion) :  You  leave  me 

naught  to  say.     Appearances 
Debauch  your  judgment.     I  have  no  defence. 
After  these  years,through  which  Affection  went 
Glad  side  by  side  with  you  and  me,  unheard 
You  send  me  forth.     Oh,  bitterly  you  wrong 
Your    excellent    Lady    here,    yourself,    and 

me, 

With  vile  suspicions. — May  they  ride  away 
With  me  at  dawn. — God  send  you  comfort, 

Sir.— 
To  thee,  my  Lady,  I  will  say  farewell. 

[Bows  low  to  RAYMOND  and  MARGHERITA 

and  goes  out. 
RAYMOND:  My  jealousy  go  with  him! — Tell 

me  now, 

Did  I  not  well  to  rid  me  of  a  doubt? 
A  green  suspicion  that  was  gnawing  here  ? — 
When  he  is  gone  then  will  I  live  again. 

MARGHERITA  (wildly):  This  will  I  say:  Thou 

hast  cast  out  delight, 
Poetry  and  music  for  a  childish  whim ! 
These  ride  away  with  him  to-morrow's  dawn — 
But  not  thy  old  Suspicion;  that  remains. 


sc.  II  CABESTAING  239 

Discord  shall  jar  the  jangled  chords  of  wed- 
lock, 
And   in  this   House,  where   harmony  dwelt 

before, 
Contention,  Hell's  own  hag,  shall  make  her 

home. 
RAYMOND:    Thy   words    are    wild.     Thou 

speakest  as  one  speaks 
Who  loses  great  possessions — Is  it  true, 
The  large  estate  of  all  thou  lov'st  is  wrack, 
And  Desolation  in  the  House  of  Song 
Sits  wailing  to  the  moon  ? — Woman,  take  care, 
Lest,  with  this  thing,  thou  damn  thy  soul  and 

— mine. 
MARGHERITA:     Thou    puttedst    happiness 

away  from  us 
When  thou  didst  cast  out  Song.     Thou  let'st 

in  wrongs 

Old  as  the  heart  is,  and  their  hate  distils 
Poison  through  all  thy  veins .    There  is  no  cure . 
[She  goes  out  looking  darkly. 
RAYMOND:  I  would  not  cast  her  off:  but  I 

would  slay 
Deliberately,  as  men  slay  beasts  of  prey, 


240  CABESTAING  ACT  II 

Her  and  this  Cabestaing,  if  I  were  sure. — 
'T  is  well  he  rides  away  to-morrow  morn. — 
Once  he  was  in  my  heart ;  ay ;  as  a  son ; 
Since  I  had  raised  him  up  from  poverty. 
Though  born  a  beggar,  noble  is  his  blood : 
His  sire,  a  spendthrift,  squandered  his  estate, 
And  left  his  young  son  beggared.     It  was  I 
Who  took  him  in  and  made  a  chevalier. — 
He  rhymed  and  twittered  even  as  a  page. 
I  sent  him  then  to  the  high  Courts  of  Love 
At  Aries  and  Avignon,  where  he  was  learned 
In  love  as  well  as  song — to  my  regret  now. 
When  he  returned  he  found  my  Margherita, 
The   fairest   flower  in   France,  transplanted 

here, 

Won,  after  many  battles  and  despairs, 
From  many  suitors  in  the  Lists  of  Love, 
By  me,  Count  Raymond,  scarred  with  wars 

and  years. 
I    could    not    help     contrasting     his     fresh 

looks 
With  my  grey  beard.     And  then  he  had  a 

voice, 
Gentle  yet  manly  that  appealed  to  women. — 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  24! 

'T  was  like  a  flame  set  to  a  tinder-faggot, 
Their  liking  was  so  swift — to  my  regret  now. — 
Their  minds  were  mated.     Hers  and  mine 

were  not. 

I  knew  it  from  the  first. — They  oft  would  sit, — 
And  strange!  that  I  should  never  once  sus- 
pect ! — 

Upon  the  terrace  with  myself  and  others, 
Discoursing  on  the  sonnet  or  the  tenzon, 
Sirvente  or  sixtine  and  what  else,  God  knows! 
A  learned  disquisition  upon  nothing, 
Filled  full  of  metaphors  of  euphuism — 
Mere  nonsense! — But  in  time,   when   I   had 

made, — 

Because  he  had  my  admiration, — (fool! — 
Oh,  twenty  times  the  fool  that  I  have  been!) — 
And  Margherita  asked  it — (I  was  blind!) — 
Made  him  her  gentleman-usher,  even  then 
I  could  not  see  the  wrong  I  'd  done  myself. 
But  others  saw  it.     Many  a  hint  I  spurned. 
But   something  I   must   see.     I    saw — blind 

fool!— 

She  was  his  inspiration,  as  they  said. 
And  when  a  woman  's  that — it  means  she  loves, 

16 


242  CABESTAING  ACT  n 

And  is  beloved  of  him  who  is  inspired. 
The  truth  is  said  at  last. — I  see  it  all. — 
Blind  have  I  been  to  open  evidence, 
And  wake  too  late  for  my  heart's  happiness. 
She  loves  him;  ay,  she  loves  him.     It  is  death 
For  me  to  think  on  it.     Why,  even  now 
They  may  be  kissing  in  the  garden  there. — 
Oh,  that  I  'd  slain  them  here!— 'T  is  farewell 

now — 
Farewell  forever  to  my  mind's  old  peace! — 

[Solemnly. 
This  is  the  last  night  they  shall  meet   on 

earth. — 

And  if  in  some  dark  alley  of  the  flowers 
Out  there,  within  the  garden,  they  be  parting, 

[Drawing  his  poniard 
This  asp  shall  find  them  and  its  fang  strike 

home. 
[He  has  been  slowly  approaching  door  to 

the  right  while  speaking.     As  he  says  the 

last   words,    with    poniard   drawn,    he 

swiftly  passes  out,  the  door  closing  after 

him.     Quick  Curtain. 


ACT   III 

SCENE  I 

Midnight.  A  part  of  Castel-Ronssillon  show- 
ing a  terrace  beneath  a  balconied  window 
on  whose  railing  of  stone  the  LADY  MAR- 
GHERITA  leans  speaking  to  CABESTAING, 
booted,  spurred,  and  cloaked  for  travel. 

CABESTAING:  I  must  be  gone  now.     Soon 

it  will  be  dawn. 

Dawn !  and  the  new  life  far  away  from  thee. — 
God  grant  me  strength  now,  double  strength 

to  do, 

To  wrest  from  Fate  the  happiness  we  demand. 
I  will  be  brave;  and  be  thou,  sweet,  the  same. 
Shed  no  more  tears. — Look  where  the  star  of 

promise, 
Bright  in  the  east,  climbs  upward  heralding 

dawn. — 

The  night  is  old.     T  must  be  far  ere  morn. 
243 


244  CABESTAING 

MARGHERITA:  Thou   wilt  return  not   later 

than  a  sennight. 

I  will  find  means  of  ingress.     In  some  way 
I  will  contrive  it.     Love,  when  lovers  will, 
Can  overbear  all  obstacles.     The  days 
Will  pass  on  iron  feet  until  the  night 
When   thou   art  here  again. — Farewell,   my 

troubadour. 

I  kiss  thy  mouth  and  eyes.     Farewell  again. 
CABESTAING:  My  heart  is  as  a  lute  beneath 

thy  eyes, 

Responding  each  emotion  of  thy  soul. 
Removed  from  thee,  dejection  shall  untune 
Its  chords  and  all  its  golden  music  fail. 
I    would  not  leave  thee   yet!     But  I  must 

go- 

I   fear   some   harm  may   come    to   thee  to- 
morrow, 

And  I  would  be  here  as  thy  true  protector. — 

'T  is  cockcrow. — Hark! — Oh  grief  that  I  must 

go! 

MARGHERITA  :  Harm  would  come  to  thee  by 
remaining  here. 

No  greater  grief  than  that  could  happen  me. — 


SC.  I  CABESTAING  24$ 

Yea,  we  must  part  now.     There's  no  other 

way. 
CABESTAING:  My  songs,  like  prayers,  shall 

ascend  for  thee, 
And  reach  the  shrine   of  Him  who  hath  in 

care 

The  hearts  of  lovers. — I  will  write  to  thee. 
God  guard  thee  always. 

MARGHERITA:  And  be  kind  to  thee. — 

Farewell  again. 

CABESTAING:  Farewell,  my  Margherita. 
[MARGHERITA  retires  slowly  from  the  bal- 
cony. CAB  EST AIN G  wraps  his  cloak  about 
him  and  remains  a  moment  watching  the 
window  where  she  disappeared.  Then 
reluctantly  turns  to  retrace  his  way 
through  the  garden  when  from  behind 
a  clump  of  roses  steps  the  Baron  of 
Roussillon. 

RAYMOND  (hoarsely) :  Dogs  should  be  killed 

like  dogs!  (Plunges  a  poniard  into  the 

breast  of  CABESTAING.)   Thou  didst  not 

know  a  snake 

Lay  listening  mid  the  roses,  and  would  strike. 


246  CABESTAING  ACT  III 

CABESTAING  (as  he  falls) :  This  is  thy  way 

then! — Oh,  them  vile  assassin! 
RAYMOND  (with  a  snarl-like  smile) :  What  ? 
didst  them  think  that,  sword  to  duelling 
sword, 

I  would  seek  satisfaction  of  a  dog? — 
Oh,  no !  my  vengeance  would  be  swift  and  sure 
As  is  the   lightning. — But   thou    liv'st    too 
long! 

[Stabs  him  again. 

CABESTAING  (as  by  a  supreme  effort  rising 
and  leaning  on  one  arm) :  Warm  from 
her  arms  I  go  to  meet  my  God, 
Her  kisses  on  my  lips ! — To  slay  thy  peace — 
Let — that — thought — stab — thy — soul ! — 

[Dies. 

RAYMOND  :  Her  kisses  ? — yea ! — 

May  they  turn   fire   to  burn  thee  there   in 

Hell!— 

Thou  liest  still  at  last  thy  last  song  sung! — 
Go !  sing  thy  wild  songs  there,  now,  with  thy 

fellows 

Among  the  devils  of  Hell !     (Spurns  the  body 
with  his  foot.)     Sing,  carrion,  sing! — 


SC.  I  CABESTAING  247 

What!  canst  thou  not? — What  will  Seduction 

say,— 
To  whom  thou  strung'st  thy  lute-strings, — 

when  it  learns 
Its  bard's  hot  heart  is  cold! 

[Kneels  and  listens  at  CABESTAING'S  breast. 

Yea;  it  is  hushed. 

I  thought  it  would  be  singing — but 't  is  still. — 
So  full  of  song  thy  heart  was,  songs  of  love, 
I  feared  that  such  a  little  thing  as  this, 
A  sliver  of  steel,  could  never  still  it. — So! — 
[Rising  and  gazing  down  upon  the  body  as 

he  sheathes  his  poniard. 
It  sings  no  more,  no  more! — Where  are  they 

now 
Those  soaring  strains  ?  that  mounting  spirit  of 

song? 

That  fluttered  like  a  lark  and  nightingale 
Around  the  yearning  heaven  of  her  soul  .    .  . 
0   thou   once-singing    heart   that   sang    her 

well, 

Thou  shalt  lie  near  her!  closer  to  her  breast 
Than  ever  heart  before. — I  will  be  kind! — 
To  both  of  you  be  kind ! — But  she  must  never 


248  CABESTAING  ACT  III 

Divine  it  till  the  last. — We  will  retire. — 
Her  balcony  views  this  spot. — I  've  work  to 

do.  ... 

[Exit  dragging  the  body  of  CABESTAING. 


SCENE  II 

Late  Morning.  The  Banqueting  Hall  as  in  Act 
Second,  Scene  First.  MARGHERITA,  BEA- 
TRIX, ERMENGARD,  MALAMORT,  AUBERT, 
and  GIRAUD  at  table.  Attendants  and 
pages  waiting. 

BEATRIX:  My  Lord  lies  late. 
MARGHERITA:  He  was  an  early  riser, 

So  says  Sir  Malamort,  who  saw  him  ride 
Forth  from  the  castle,  saddled  for  the  chase. 
ERMENGARD:  Haply  he   goes  to  hunt  the 

boar  I  hear 
Hath  wasted  half  the  County. 

MALAMORT:  Nay:  he  hunts  no  boar. 

It  is  a  hart  he  hunts :  a  mighty  stag 
That  haunts  the  forests  round  of  Roussillon. 
MARGHERITA:  We  will  be  served.     He  may 
not  come  till  eve. 
[Pages  and  attendants  bring  in  various 

dishes. 

249 


2$O  CABESTAING 


ACT  III 


AUBERT  (to  BEATRIX)  :  As  for  the  boar  thou 

spokest  of  just  now — 

Would  that  our  Lord  would  have  the  boar- 
hounds  out. 
We  have  grown  stale  here  for  amusement. 

BEATRIX    (laughing) :  Why, 

Thou  'rt  gallant  to  us  Ladies ! — Hunt  thy  boar ; 
I  '11  hawk  for  herons — or  for  hares  like  thee. 
GIRAUD    (with  enthusiasm):     A  boar-hunt, 

Ladies !  nothing  could  be  better. 
MARGHERITA  (with  decision) :  Raymond  shall 

have  the  honor  of  its  slaying ! 
He  hath  grown  strange  of  late ;  and  I  will  wager 
He  hunts  this  monster  without  men  or  dogs. 
ERMENGARD:  'T  were  death  to  any  man. 
MARGHERITA:  But  not  to  Ray- 

mond. 

I  '11  wager  that  he  hunt  the  beast  alone, 
And  bring  its  head  back  to  adorn  our  Hall. 
MALAMORT:  I  take  thy  wager,  Lady  Mar- 

gherita. 
A  hundred  ducats. 

AUBERT:  I  will  add  to  that 

A  hundred  more. 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  2$l 

GIRAUD:  And  not  to  be  alone 

Out  of  this  Danae  shower,  whose  gold  shall 

make 

A  god  of  Raymond,  I  will  wage  a  hundred. 
MARGHERITA:  Three  hundred  ducats  then. 

The  wager  stands. 

[Enter  RAYMOND,  pale,  and  cloaked  and 
booted  as  if  just  returned  from  the  hunt. 
All  rise  as  he  enters. 
RAYMOND:  Be  seated. 
[They  seat  themselves  again  while  RAYMOND 

remains  standing. 
MARGHERITA  (looking  at  him  intently):  Thou 

art  tired  and  disturbed. — 
But,  that  aside,  we  have  a  wager  here, 
These  Chevaliers  and  I. 

RAYMOND  (mechanically):  A  wager? — Well: 
Take  care  lest  thou  shouldst  lose  it. 

MARGHERITA  (laughing  incredulously) :  Nay; 

not  I. 

I  know  my  Lord  too  well. — 'T  is  of  a  boar, 
A  devastating  beast  which  thou  shalt  hunt, — 
[With  slow,  deep-measured  emphasis. 
Alone,  with  neither  men  nor  dogs  to  aid  thee. 


252  CABESTAING  ACT  III 

BEATRIX:  'T  is  a  huge  monster,  Roussillon, 

that  holds 

The  neighbouring  peasantry  in  terror.     Ay! 
A  child  it  hath  devoured,  and  hath  slain 
Six  stalwart  men,  they  say, who  went  to  slay  it. 
M ALAMORT  (laughing) :  And  countless  dogs 

its  mighty  tusks  have  ripped 
Sending  them  howling  to  the  Heaven  of  Dogs. 
RAYMOND  (who  has  remained  darkly  silent) : 
Ay?  is  it  so? — And  thou  hast  wagered 
now 
That  I  shall  hunt,  unmanned,  undogged,  this 

beast 

That  hath  slain  several  men  and  many  dogs? 

[He  stares  steadily  into  the  eyes  of  MAR- 

GHERITA  and  slowly  seats  himself  without 

removing  his  gaze  from  her  face. 

MARGHERITA  (sneering) :  Thou  wilt  not  hunt 

it,  and  I  lose  my  wager! 
I  see  thou  wilt  not,  for  thy  face  is  pale — 

[Scornfully 

With  fear. — I  lose  my  wager,  Chevaliers. 
RAYMOND  (smiling  darkly) :  Nay;  nay;  not 
yet.     When  monsters  make  me  fear 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  2$$ 

Let  dead  men  laugh. — Yea;  I  will  hunt  this 

boar; 

Sans  men,  sans  dogs;  and,  if  thou  ask  it,  too, 
Sans  arms  and  horse — But,  I  will  hunt  this 

boar. 
MARGHERITA    (eagerly):  Thy   dagger  must 

thou  have,  for  thou  must  bring 
Its  huge  head  to  us,  as  a  proof  't  is  slain. 
RAYMOND:  This  poniard  then  (touching  the 
dagger  at  his  girdle)  shall  do  the  bloody 
work — 
Or  shall  it  be  a  spear? 

MARGHERITA:  Either,  I  care  not. 

Dagger  or  spear,  it  matters  not  to  me. 

BEATRIX  (aside  to  ERMENGARD):  She  sends 

him  forth  to  certain  death,  by  Heaven! 

ERMENGARD    (aside) :  He   knows  it.     But 

what  purpose  lies  behind? 
BEATRIX  (aside) :  Canst  thou  not  see  't  is 

Cabestaing? 

RAYMOND  (hearing  Cabestaing's  name;  sol- 
emnly) :  He  rose 
Betimes,  like  any  lark,  our  troubadour, 
And  bade  me  bid  you  all  a  long  adieu. 


254  CABESTAING  ACT  in 

I  saw  him  off.     He  rode  to  Avignon — 
Or  so  I  think — to  seek  his  fortune  there 
With  other  troubadours  at  the  Court  of  Love. 
Lord  Robert  and  his  Lady  left  with  him. 
He  will  beguile  their  way,  I  have  no  doubt, 
And  breach  the  fortress  of  my  Lady's  heart, 
Ere  they  arrive,  with  chanson  or  a  sonnet. — 
But  are  you  served? — 

MARGHERITA:          We  are,  my  Lord. 
RAYMOND:  'T  is  well. — 

I  have  a  dainty  for  thee.     'T  is  prepared. 
Let  it  be  served.  [Motioning  a  page  who 

retires. 

MARGHERITA:     Is  't  fish  or  fowl,  my  Lord? 
RAYMOND  :  'T  is  neither  fowl  nor  fish ;  but 

most  sweet  flesh. 

It  is  a  heart — of  which  thou  art  right  fond. 
MARGHERITA  (smiling) :    Yea,  I  am  fond  of 

hearts.     Let  it  be  served. 
[A  heart  on  a  golden  platter  is  brought  in 
by  the  page    and  placed  before  MAR- 
GHERITA. 

RAYMOND:  This  is  a  delicate  morsel.     Good 
Pierre, 


sc.  ii  CABESTAING  255 

Our  excellent  cook,  prepared  it  only  now 
According  to  a  recipe  I  had 
Of  that  stout  epicure,  my  brother  Robert. 
MARGHERITA  :  'T  is  served  in  state ;  on  gold ; 

and  must  be  royal. 
RAYMOND  (significantly):  Ay;  royal  was  it 

when  it  throbbed  with  life. 
MARGHERITA:  A  stag's,  perhaps. — A  stag's, 

thou  hast  just  slain? 
RAYMOND:  A  noble  stag's.     The  heart  of  a 

great  stag  I  slew  this  morning. 
[MARGHERITA  tastes  of  the  heart.     RAY- 
MOND never  removes  his  eyes  from  her 
face.   Then  perceiving  that,  under  the  in- 
tensity of  his  gaze,  she  hesitates: 

Yea;  wilt  thou  not  eat? — 
There   is   no   heart  like   this    in   the    whole 

world. 

MARGHERITA  (a  look  of  fear  gradually  com- 
ing into  her  face) :  The  heart !  (shudder- 
ing)— its  savour  is  most  strange !  most 
sweet ! — 

I  never  tasted  flesh  like  this  before. — 
I    can  not,  can  not! — (recoiling  from  [RAY- 


256  CABESTAING  ACT  III 

MOND'S  eyes) :  Why  dost  them  glare  so 
With  thy  fierce  eyes? — (terror  in  her  voice): 

Tell  me,  what  thing  was  this, 
Whose  heart  thou  'dst  have  me  eat? 

RAYMOND   (producing    the  head  of   CABE- 
STAING from  beneath  his  hunting-cloak 
Where  he  has  held  it  concealed  during  all 
this  time): 

This  was  the  stag, 
Whose  heart  was  served  theenow. — Wilt  thou 

refuse  it  ? 

M ALAMORT  (starting  up  from  the  table  with 
the  others):  'T  is  Cabestaing !  The  head 
of  Cabestaing! 

[Cries  of  CABESTAING!  throughout  the 
Hall,  which  quickly  empties  itself  of 
guests  indiscriminately  mingled  with 
pages  and  attendants.  MARGHERITA  sits 
staring  at  the  head  which  RAYMOND  has 
placed  on  the  table  immediately  facing 
her.  Then,  rising  like  an  automaton, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ghastly 
countenance  of  CABESTAING,  she  speaks 
in  a  voice  that  seems  to  come  from 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  2$? 

an  immeasurable  distance,  thin,  strained 
and  full  of  unspeakable  horror. 
MARGHERITA:  The  heart  of  him  I  love? — 

Of  Cabestaing? — 

Oh,  no,  no,  no! — It  is  some  horrible  jest! — 
No  man  that  lives  could  do  a  thing  like 

this! — 

A  demon's  deed  like  this! — (maddening  at  his 
silence  and  the  intensity  of  his  gaze) : 
Say  thou  hast  jested ! — 
Say  it,  thou  fiend! — Say  that  this  heart, 
Which  thou  hast  served  here,  is  not  his ! — It  is 
Some  fawn's! — some  animal's  of  the  woods! — 
a  dog's! —  *'•- 

RAYMOND  (mercilessly):  A  dog's! — Ay!  't 

was  a  dog's ! — A  dog  that  fawned 
And  licked  my  hand  and  looked  with  lecher- 
ous eyes 
Upon  my  wife,  who  loved  the   hound  too 

well!—- 
The  dead  dog  Cabestaing's!— 

MARGHERITA  (tottering;  with  closed  eyes;  her 
voice  almost  inarticulate  with  horror  and 
anguish):  O  God!  O  God! — 


258  CABESTAING  ACT  ill 

'T  is  true !  't  is  true ! — He  speaks  the  truth. — 

The  head 
Is   Cabestaing's !  the   heart — my  God! — was 

his!— 

[Opening  her  eyes,  that  seek  RAYMOND'S  face. 
Never  was  crime  like  this  before ! — I  see 
The  demon  in  his  eyes  that  did  this  deed, 
Exultingly,  as  devils  torture  souls. — 
O  God!  O  God! — (blazing  into  fury):  Unutter- 
able beast! 
Since  this  is  true  (speaking  low  and  with  strained 

intensity) :  that  I  have  eaten  of 
The  heart  of  love  and  song, — know  now — for 

fear 

That  I  may  ever  lose  the  taste  of  flesh 
So  sweet,  so  poignant  sweet — as  long  as  life 
Homes  in  this  wretched  body  that  I  loathe, 
No  other  food  shall  pass  these  lips. — May  God 
Have  mercy  on  my  soul! — 

RAYMOND  (infuriated) :  Magnificent  harlot ! — 
Not  to  thy  God,  but  Hell,  commend  thy  soul! 
Go  meet  thy  lover  there ! — This  steel,  (drawing 

his  dagger)  that  drank 
The  life  of  Cabestaing,  thirsts  now  for  thine. 


SC.  II  CABESTAING  259 

I   should  have  sent  you  shrieking  there  last 

night 
When  here  I  found  you,  hungering  face  to 

face. 

[He  approaches  her  slowly  from  the  end  of 
the  table.  She  retreats,  facing  towards 
him,  till  she  reaches  the  casement  open- 
ing on  the  stone  balcony  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  Hall  that  overlooks  the  bas- 
tioned  precipice  of  the  castle's  founda- 
tions. 

MARGHERITA:  Clean  of  thy  touch  my  soul 
shall  meet  his  soul! 

[Leaps  into  the  abyss. 

RAYMOND:    That  way  was  best. — Now  I 
will  hunt  my  boar! 

Curtain 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 


N°  430219 

Cawein,  M.J. 

The   shadow  garden 


PS1277 

S4 

1910 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


